#whether that's clinging or from a distance

[shorthaltsjester]

oh liliana. oh boy. fantastic night for family tragedy lovers. oh to see a woman who abandons her daughter to what she knows to be a horrible fate in search of Answers and she gives that daughter nothing but a carrot on a stick of ominous dreams for a mother. and when imogen finally catches up to her, as liliana guaranteed she would when she found answers and gave imogen none, and she stares in imogen’s face and gives her words to console the Infant she left behind and the woman who stands in front of her finds them lacking. the dream liliana has of a home she can return to with a daughter crying in her arms because she doesn’t have words yet is shattered by the reality of a daughter crying at arms length because she can’t trust her words. liliana clinging to that dream so hard that she tells imogen that she is committed to the cause imogen doesn’t understand because there’s children here and in the same conversation liliana reminds imogen that she chose this for her, to save Her, and liliana doesn’t notice that imogen’s no longer a child that can be included in that sentence. because liliana’s been hungry — for answers, for a life she gave up —and so is the monster that’s embedded in the moon and maybe if liliana does this right she can finally be full, she can finally feed her daughter with the knowledge of their power. she can go home to a table set for dinner and see imogen sat across from her.

except. except. except. the world is near ending and her daughter is dying in a tunnel that would become her tomb if liliana’s coworkers — y’know, the ones on the side that’s For Imogen — got what they wanted. and then liliana seemingly realizes, as she stumbles through helping imogen and her friends, being prodded by them as imogen strains under being both herself and the daughter who was abandoned, and she seems to actually Hear when imogen asks her to make her own choices, and to stop making them in her name (implicitly, making ones imogen is explicitly asking liliana Not To Make and then saying it’s all for her). and maybe liliana is still hungry for answers, but maybe imogen trusting her, piece by piece, fills a different kind of hunger.

and then. the image of imogen as an adult — her daughter certainly, but one with agency, and one with power, whether she has the satisfaction of knowledge guiding her or not — seems to settle in, but only now that it’s too late. only now, with the image of ludinus fading as fast as imogen’s does, revealing instead the conman and the woman she finds herself stuck between. and liliana finally sees imogen and realizes there will be no home, there will be no full bellies, no relief at the end of all this, because this is the end. because the man who promised a way to be full has found it, but this was never about liliana being full, and it was never about bringing home enough answers to ensure imogen never starved. it was about ludinus keeping his own plate full, ensuring he always had a meal at his side should he ever need it. and he’s hungry, and her use has finally failed to outweigh his gluttony. and when thinking of herself, her own power, liliana thought ludinus unbeatable, she thought him beyond anything but just influencing him to choose lesser evils, but she reaches out for her daughter, pain and storms surrounding their conversation as they have never failed to, and she tells imogen to stop him.

oh temults we’re really in it now. extremely obsessed with a family who loves each other enough to distance themselves from one another but not enough to stay.

[5-puthyyy]

River of Life (Agatha x Rio)

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 10k

Summary:

“A gift?” She repeated, stepping forward. The dead witch’s protests were easily ignored now; Death’s only focus was Agatha. Agatha, smiling at her brightly, eyes as bright and wild as her hair.

“A gift. For you,” Agatha revealed, taking her own step forward. Her lips trembled slightly, maybe from the cold or maybe from her nerves, Death does not know. But what she does know is Agatha just killed someone for her.

“Me?” Death breathed out, eyes wide and completely hypnotised by the beautiful gesture done for her.

Agatha attempted to step even closer but realised this was as close as she could get. The tip of her nose was just inches away from Death’s, the proximity immediately causing a shiver to run up her spine. “For you…my love,” she breathed out in confession, eager for Death’s reaction.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Death is a simp and Agatha kills witches to court her.

(So also a simp)

WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT, ABUSIVE MOTHER (physical and emotional), KILLING AND DEATH

River of Life

The first time Agatha encountered Death was as a mere babe, her eyes piercing swirls of blue, reflecting the dark forest and bright skies in which she was birthed. Her mother knew not of what she was, of what her future held, of the raw, addictive power that would always be within her grasp. But she knew something. Whether it was a feeling, a thought, or a sinister energy, she knew there would be something tragic about her babe as she looked down at her with sweaty hair clinging to rosy cheeks.

“What have I done?” Evanora Harkness whispers, her breath ragged and dull eyes tired yet impossibly wide with a feeling she was far too familiar with. Fear.

Agatha did not know it yet; did not know Magick, the world she was about to be thrown in without guidance, with a mother hellbent on making her suffer for simply existing. An abomination is what Evanora would say to her, over and over again, a twisted lullaby Agatha vowed to never inherit to her own babe, if she wished to have one.

Agatha Harkness does not recall her encounter with Death, but Death could never forget the feeling, the beat, thrum and rhythm of Agatha’s soul surfacing. Death felt the tug and pull but the feeling was new; it was not another soul awaiting collection, not one near the brink refusing to let go. Agatha’s call, to Death, was the complete opposite of the usual despair and dread. And Death made it their mission to figure out why.

Agatha had been on this plane for just a year, perhaps a few weeks more, when she took her first life. Still, centuries later, she remembers nothing of it, just the story her mother used as she degraded her, berated her, villainised her throughout her youth.

The story is a simple one, but oh-so-tragic. Whatever hatred her mother harboured for her grew into something even deeper, darker. There was no going back after that, no saving grace; each time she held her baby in her arms, Evanora struggled to feel an ounce of affection.

How could she for the person that killed her mother?

“Heed my words, Mother. There is something sinister about this child. Please, for my sake, for your babe, keep your distance,” Evanora pleaded, giving her Mother all the warnings she could possibly give.

Her Mother simply smiled at her, warm and understanding. “This child is your child, as you are mine. What you are experiencing is common, my dear. Every mother holds a little contempt for their child. After all, your body has been altered, shared, used for creation. Your identity shifted. You are no longer just Evanora Harkness, no longer just a witch, a member of this coven. You are a mother, first and foremost. And that duty is both a curse, and the highest blessing that the Divine Mother can give.”

It happened the next moon. Agatha wailed in her grandmother’s arms throughout the entire morning, ignoring the Sun’s demand for smiles. Milk? She’d spit it out and wail louder. Sleep? She’d shake the tiredness out of her eyes and wail louder yet. A kiss, a laugh, a smile so desperate for a little quiet; all mere distractions that Agatha was far too clever to fall for. She wanted one thing, and one thing only.

Her grandmother forgot Evanora’s warning. No Magick, she had said. The power may be too much, we are yet to know what she is capable of, yet to understand the effect Magick may have on her.

But the babe was so loud, so demanding, so…so wicked it drove the sanest witch to madness. She had no choice but to attempt to soothe her with Magick, just a quick lulling spell to put her to sleep, the same spell she had used on Evanora as a child. It was the tiniest drop, barely that, not wanting to harm her granddaughter. But all it took was a drop. That’s all it ever took to corrupt.

The wailing stopped, and so did the forest, their little village. The birds seized their squeaking; cows their mooing; horses their whining. At last, she felt as if she could finally breathe. But she would have treasured it more if she knew it would be her last. She began to choke as she sucked the crisp air in, eye snapping open at the swaying trees above. Was there danger nearby? Is this a spell from a witch of her past hellbent on revenge? What could she do to protect the babe in her arms?

She slowly lowered her head in between gasps, dread filling the remainder of her soul the moment she locked eyes with her granddaughter. They were no longer the river blues she had grown to love, but a purple. A shade so vivid it appeared angry and hungry. Hungry for more, and it took–No, she took, took as much as she could get all while sucking on her tiny thumb. The orange power force trailed from fingertip to cheek, the stream turning purple, and she could do nothing to stop it, could do nothing but watch as the flesh of her hand slowly sucked tight until it was nothing but bone.

At the drop of her body, the wailing began again, but it was not from the babe. She remained silent, her need finally fulfilled. Until her eyes landed on green. The colour was bright, welcoming, beautiful on the dress that caught her attention. She was but a child, flapping her hands with wide eyes at the new colour, and she then let out a squeal as another appeared. A purple azalea, sprouting out from inside the green person’s palm.

Agatha made not a single sound as she slept through the night, the flower crushed in her hard grip.

Death was typically impeccable with timing. They could sense it all; when people were ready, what they needed to be ready, when to show up for them. It was always for them. It was never something Death had to think about because it was duty and that was all. That was their…well, not really life, as to have a life means having an end to it and Death has no end. 

It is a burden weighed on their mind at times, on the rare occasion that the world was quiet. A burden, they thought, to not simply have a job but be a job, full of heavy purpose but just one, one thing to do for eternity. Yet be cursed with a mind. A mind capable of boredom, of deeper thought, thoughts that question that very purpose. This cannot be it. There has to be more, there has to be an end, though Death has been here so long they don’t remember the beginning. 

Back to time; time is duty. That is all it has ever been. But it has been a decade since…since that night, and all Death could think about was time. Why does it move slower than a chewing cow?

“By God’s bones…” Death swore, grunting as they strolled through the mist into yet another old man’s bedroom. “What is holding you back, Sir?” They asked in a monotone voice, wanting to move to the next as soon as possible.

The grey man coughed, somehow sounding dry and wet at once, and croaked. “My wife…I cannot leave my wife,” That made it the eighth time Death had heard this one in a night, the twentieth of the day, and the hundredth of the week.

With a deep sigh, Death waved their hand. “Edith will live a happy, safe, and full life. She will be at peace, so you may be.”

He coughed again, lips quivering before he revealed the real reason he could not let go. “She cannot wed another,” Of course. That made it the thirtieth out of the hundred.

Death clenched their jaw in frustration, contemplating what would cross the line of professionalism. Anger took over in the end. “Fine. Watch over her while another man beds her. Weap and suffer for all I care. The door is open for you, good sir, when you realise your wife is not a possession but her very own being! I know, sir, that thought must be entirely shocking to you, but Edith did live a life before you, and she will live another, and another, so long as she weds wilting old men thrice her age like you!”

With that, Death cut through the threshold and lept into the clouds, falling, falling, falling until there was nothing. They landed in a pile of leaves but felt nothing of the impact. They felt nothing, always, destined to serve and nobody can truly serve if they feel. 

The calls never stop, not really, but throughout the aeons, Death had learnt which ones to ignore. Time, again, is an all-powerful source. It can heal anything and everything. It had been a couple of minutes at the most and Death could feel old Jack passing through already having had the time to think about Edith’s happiness and his own need for peace.

But this next call, Death could not ignore, because they had only ever felt that twice. Once, eleven years ago, and another the following year. It hadn’t felt like a soul calling for Death, but a soul calling to Death, with a curiosity, an intrigue so strong it could not be ignored. Their knife ripped through time as they made their way to their destination.

Death chooses to watch. They are an observer, after all, existing only to guide when needed. They choose when to appear, and who to appear to. Being able to play with their form comes with its benefits, the biggest one being the chance to be unseen but still felt.

Step by step, Death moved closer and closer to that curious soul calling to her, until they saw her. Unmistakably, it was her. It was that babe in the forest that took her first kill at the age of one. One turn around the Sun was all it took for this power-hungry witch to yield to her higher calling. Her hair flowed down her back, wavy but not curly, dark but not black.

Death crushed a stick as they stepped closer to see what the girl was tilting her head at on the ground, but before they could get there, the girl’s head swooshed to the side. Their eyes locked. Time had never existed for Death, but if it did, they were sure it would be frozen at this moment.

“Who are you?” The girl demanded an answer, her voice youthful yet holding so much power, authority, the type that can only come with confidence in one’s abilities.

Death remained frozen; their eyes had never been this wide before. “Impossible,” they whispered, for the first time truly surprised. Death was meant to be hidden, they were sure of it. They were so sure, so sure they did not want to be seen by this girl, not yet, not before understanding what made her so different. This only added more questions to Death’s mind; how could she see their form?

Purple flares began to spark at the girl’s fingertips, enough to shake Death out of their daze and fade into a cloud of black-green smoke, but not before catching a glimpse of a bright purple azalea, the stem tucked behind the girl’s ear.

“You have always been a wicked girl,” The words slashing through Agatha’s heart hurt more than the hand slapping her across the face. Her cheek stung, and it would stay bright red at the very least until the Sun drew itself back into hiding. But the sting in her heart, her soul – whatever was left of it anyway with the absence of motherly love in her life – is what made Agatha cower and shrink within herself, turning away from her Mother.

“I did not mean to, Mother. Please…if you could only teach me how to control it,” she pleaded for forgiveness, for her Mother to show her an ounce of mercy and not punish her for something she cannot be blamed for.

But Evanora simply scowled and struck her daughter down again, and again, until she was lying on the ground curled up like a powerless infant. “You must learn to behave the way a witch is expected to! But what else can I expect from you? You are no witch, you have no power of your own. All you have is greed.”

Agatha snapped her head up, revealing her tear-stained cheeks as she yelled. “And all you have is hate! I am your daughter, Mother! Am I–Am I not your flesh and–and your blood?” Her voice cracked as vulnerability broke through, her eyes shining with a desperation to be loved.

Evanora shushed her with a simple look, a dark one that hid any affection she may be holding, any sympathy left in her heart. Crouching down like a predator intimidating its prey, she gripped Agatha’s chin in her hand, fingers digging into sensitive skin, and hissed. “You…are an abomination.”

A gust of wind rushed through the woods powerful enough to push Evanora back a step or two, forcing her hand away from her daughter’s trembling face. The toxic mix of emotions running through Agatha’s body had her too distracted to notice what had just happened; she ignored Evanora’s confusion and curious eyes cautiously analysing the trees around them. 

Standing on shaky feet with soil digging under her nails, Agatha screeched. “I hate you!” The forest shook with her, a few branches ripping off as her purple blasted towards her Mother. The elder is pushed back again, harder this time, her feet dragging the soil and disrupting the flow of grass.

“Enough!” Evanora yelled with weakened authority, her voice trembling with fear, eyebrow twitching at the shiver she could feel running down her spine. This was not just Agatha; there was someone else here, something else, powerful and just as angry if not angrier.

Agatha growled, her blue eyes turning darker as swirls of purple threatened to overtake them. She was close to letting them, so very close to blasting her Mother over and over again until she truly understood the meaning of power, real, raw power. Maybe then she would understand why Agatha was the way she was and why it was an impossible task to control what she had.

Her fingers expertly twirled, playing with her food as she swirled her Magick around, forming a ball. But before she could throw it, a flicker of green caught her attention. Just a gleam, small but so bright in the corner of her vision. She turned nonetheless, distracted as her mind attempted to pinpoint where she remembered that shade from. It only took her a moment to remember and she trailed off into the forest to follow, her trembling Mother’s gasps and protests falling onto deaf ears.

She had walked this forest her entire life, all thirty-five years, and knew it better than most. This was her comfort. The trees could never reject her, abandon her, disregard her like she was nothing. As far as she was concerned, her flesh was hardened wood and blood the sweet maple that runs through these trunks. And, oh, how sweet they were, always sparing a drop for her as she pleased. They did not reject her but please her, bend to her will, sway and rustle her to sleep on the nights she had nowhere to go, no bed to sleep on but the bed of fallen leaves that soaked her tears in. The fourth time, she returned to a bed of azaleas, believing she had grown them with her tears, that her pain held the strongest Magick. So she began to embrace the hurt and let it fuel her.

“Do you know what they signify?”

Agatha spun around towards the husky yet feminine voice but found nothing but an endless forest. She squinted as she scouted the area, eyes swivelling between branches and logs, leaves and bright flowers. She knows this forest and therefore knows all its hiding spots; no one could hide from her here.

It seemed she had found her match. She decided the best way to get them to come out and play was to join the game. “That depends on the colour, dear,” She replies lightly, hands open by her sides, making sure purple swirls were bright enough for her new friend – or enemy – to see. She may be playful, may be a young witch still, but she has power, more than any singular witch could hold.

“Purple?” The voice asked, echoed, lingering while their body disappeared yet again. But before they could, Agatha caught that green again.

Focus, she told herself, her eyes fluttering shut as she honed in her senses. The forest went silent in her ears, hearing nothing but the pounding of her heart. She searched for another, tilting her head as her teeth ground together in frustration.

“I do not have one,” The voice spoke again, this time sounding less playful – just a smidge, but enough for a woman like Agatha to figure out, “A heart, that is. If that is what you are searching for,” They sounded closer this time, just behind her. So close, that Agatha could feel the heat of a body behind her own. Or, rather, energy would be the better word as all she could feel was ice. So incredibly cold it forced a shiver to attack her body.

“Every living being has one,” Agatha replied, taking in a deep breath as she leaned back towards the danger.

A gulp, audible. “And if I dare to tell you the truth, that…that I am not? Living?” 

It took a couple of seconds until Agatha let her eyes fall open, this time finding herself staring into wide eyes. Not just eyes, no, there was nothing ordinary about those eyes, so dark yet bright, deep yet empty, brown, so beautifully brown like the very trunks of those sweet maple trees Agatha loves so dearly. Agatha’s lips stretched into the widest smile she had ever given.

“Death comes for us all.”

Beautiful is all that echoed in Death’s head, over and over again, so loud it cannot be an echo but a scream, a constant reminder to ensure she never forgets how precious she is. ‘She’, being the witch that haunts Death’s silent hours. It used to be quiet in their head on the rare occasion that souls pass through on their own without the need for a guide. Those moments they cherished, being able to think clearly, or not think at all, just…exist. Now Death exists with Agatha, and cannot imagine existing without her.

After revealing themself to the witch, the two became inseparable. Where Agatha walked, Death followed, hiding from everyone else but remaining visible and oh-so beautifully green to Agatha.

“Do you have a name?” Agatha once asked them, building up the courage to ask after a few weeks spent in tension, the two navigating their blossoming…friendship? 

Death waited a moment, leaning back against the tree trunk before shrugging. “Death.”

Agatha rolled those blue eyes and Death cursed her for hiding them away. “No, a real name,” Agatha teased with no harm in her words, just a curiosity glinting in her eyes as she turned to scan Death’s expressionless face.

“That is all I have been known as. All I have known myself as.”

Agatha promptly dropped the topic after that, never mentioning it again. She simply observed. She was always observing, always analysing, measuring, plotting. Her mother called her wicked for it. Death was there for every insult, jaw tight and fists white. They’d step in on occasion, of course without Evanora knowing what was truly happening, but Agatha would cackle a sound so joyful if Death had a heart it would sure flutter in their chest, hard enough to fly out straight into Agatha’s open arms.

“What are you exactly?” Agatha asked, looking down at Death’s soft face in her lap. It took all her self-control to not brush her thumb over Death’s pink lips.

Death huffed and shrugged again. “Death.”

“Lady Death?” Agatha teased, her nails gently scratching underneath Death’s cold jaw.

Death contemplated for a moment. Their form was always changing, their true form not confined to a gender. But the form they had chosen with Agatha was a female one, soft yet dangerously sharp. And she seemed to like it. “Well. If I were to remain a Lady, would you like me more?” They tried to keep desperation leaking from their tone but it was impossible around Agatha given the smirk she gave them. 

“Perhaps.” 

Death sunk their head deeper into Agatha’s soft thighs and thought about being called her. Keeping this form, perhaps choosing to walk this plane and blend in with its people, getting to know them before taking their souls. It could be fun. “Then I will use this form for as long as I live. Which is eternity, I suppose. What a thought.” Death let her thoughts drift as her eyes fluttered shut; no, she cannot ever sleep, but she can rest. It’s only Agatha’s presence that can make her feel this serene. 

Her sweet Agatha let her fingers trail from her cheek to her hair, gently running her fingers through it, hiding it behind her ears to keep her sharp features exposed. “I like you as you are,” She whispered before leaning down and pressing the softest of kisses across Death’s brow.

She froze, expecting to feel tension, fear, discomfort at being touched this way. It had been many centuries since Death had let someone touch her like this, having found little pleasure in exposing her true vulnerability to others, uncomfortable with the thought of loving and wanting just for mortal bodies to inevitably rot. But there is no fear here. She had never been dealt with in such a gentle way, an almost motherly way. It made her feel cared for like never before. When her eyes fluttered back open, they met with the sky and she saw no storm in them.

That day wasn’t any different to another. Death collected body after body – though she was calmer in nature than usual – her mind flickering back to her love. Well, Agatha was not her love. Not yet, anyway, not until Death grew enough courage to ask, to take that step forward as they both gazed into each other’s eyes for hours on end. It was a game, Agatha said, to see who blinks first. The loser gets a flick on the nose. Agatha’s nose always ended up red as a tomato by the time the Sun falls; Death would never blink and risk missing the shift of a swirl of blue, or a cloud forming behind those eyes she has come to crave. 

There is so much life in them, she thinks. And as Death, life was never something that fascinated her. It was something she only took. It was duty. A life ended every second so she never really stopped to think about just how long that life was, what they achieved, what they did during their time. That is what makes it precious; that there is a time, time for it to end. She wonders what Agatha will do with hers.

“I am not ready, please, do not take me away, God, please–”

Death shook her head. “Not God,” she corrected, leaning against the ledge of the open doorway to the Other Side, “Death. It comes for us all, and you must be ready to let go.”

The woman shrieked, wailed, refused to budge from her spot on the soil next to her son. He lay there, dreaming, unaware of his Mother’s passing. The flu took her, was strong enough to take her as it had been the fourth time it attacked her in the month. But she could not afford the help, could not conjure up a spell, knew little of the herb mixtures. She did not eat, did not drink the water other travellers were kind enough to lend; everything must be for her son. She told herself if she were to pass it would be fine as long as he survived, but now that the time has come, she refused to believe it to be true.

Death leaned down behind her, her touch gentle against the woman’s trembling back. “You do not want to see what becomes of the soul that lingers. He would not want to see you as that,” she whispered soothingly, convincingly, “Peace is on the Other Side. And you will reunite soon.”

The woman’s sobs slowly ceased until she was simply stroking his head with a shaking hand, tucking his curled hair behind his ears. The gesture reminded Death of her Agatha. She wanted nothing more than to return to her at that moment, for that hand on her cheek again, the tips of those fingers tracing every bone, structure, curve on her face and she feigned sleep.

“Will he…will he be okay?” She asked, standing up and turning to look Death in the eyes.

Death nodded. “He will. The world does not stop moving, and neither will he.”

Death will always show up when Agatha calls for her. Always. She made a promise to be there, be present, be watching, and she intends to live up to that promise. This call felt different though, there was a twinge of anxiety in her call, a hint of fear, and it immediately terrified her. What if something terrible has happened? What if Agatha was attacked? Was it her Mother again, or worse, the entire coven? It wouldn’t take much for them to turn on her, not with Evanora’s influence. 

What started as a bad mother-daughter relationship had turned into something darker, something wicked, rooted in evil. Death had seen a lot in her lifetime; she is no stranger to cruelty, and that is all she saw in Evanora’s treatment of her flesh and blood. So when she hurried back, revealing herself in Agatha’s forest in a cloud of green smoke, she was surprised to see the witch with a grin on her face. Wide, excited, but also hesitant.

“Agatha? Is everything alright?” Death asked, stepping forward over the broken branches on the ground. With a flick of her hand, they curled together into the soil, new roots twisting and digging in to grow strong in a couple of weeks.

The witch was dressed in a purple gown, a darker shade than usual, with a white one underneath to preserve modesty – though she was thinking nothing but immodest thoughts at the sight of Death with that green cloak she never takes off. Before Agatha could utter a word, Death spun her head to the side, hearing another call.

“She–She did this to me!” The soul yelled at her, emerging from behind a tree. An older woman, hair silky and grey twisted into a braid. She pointed a finger, bony and the tips black at Agatha. 

Death followed the finger’s aim, seeing Agatha’s eyes directly on her, not being able to see the soul of the other witch. “Did you do this?” She asked Agatha who could only grin wider, teeth pearly white. “Why?” There was no judgement in her tone. No anger, disappointment, nothing that a small part of Agatha feared there would be. No, there was only intrigue, a dark look in her brown eyes.

Show me Death, Agatha thought. “A gift,” she whispered, her voice travelling through to Death’s confused ears.

“A gift?” She repeated, stepping forward. The dead witch’s protests were easily ignored now; Death’s only focus was Agatha. Agatha, smiling at her brightly, eyes as bright and wild as her hair.

“A gift. For you,” Agatha revealed, taking her own step forward. Her lips trembled slightly, maybe from the cold or maybe from her nerves, Death does not know. But what she does know is Agatha just killed someone for her.

“Me?” Death breathed out, eyes wide and completely hypnotised by the beautiful gesture done for her.

Agatha attempted to step even closer but realised this was as close as she could get. The tip of her nose was just inches away from Death’s, the proximity immediately causing a shiver to run up her spine. “For you…my love,” she breathed out in confession, eager for Death’s reaction. 

My love. Her love. Agatha’s love. Love, love, love…

“Yours…” Death whispered back, brushing her nose to Agatha’s, the touch making them both jolt inside. It took everything in her, all the power she could hold in her lifeless body to pull away, “But you cannot,” but she did.

Agatha’s hands immediately reached for Death, holding her close before she could flee from this. “I can. I do, my love,” my love, “I want you. Only you, since the moment I gazed into your eyes,” Agatha continued, unable to stop now that she had finally said the words, “Your eyes, my, I simply knew it when they reminded me of my forests, of these trees, those sweet maple trees…I knew that no sweetness would ever match you, my love, my sweet, my life.”

Agatha’s hand, up her neck, both tight yet soft against Death’s jaw. It would take a step, just one, an inch to close the gap, to give in to Agatha’s hot breath and sweet, plump lips. But she cannot. Not when Agatha has her entire life ahead of her, great things to do, power to steal, witches to kill…the things she could do, and all Death was planning to do was watch and admire from afar. She will not hold Agatha Harkness back from greatness.

“I–Agatha, you charm me, warm me so, but I cannot be life, not what I am Death. I am a plague, I cannot be with you for all my time–” 

Her witch shook her head fast, holding Death’s face in her hands. “You do not have to be. I will carry you, like so,” she held Death’s gentle hand to her heart, beating loud and proud for Death to hear.

But she thinks of what it would feel like to have to leave Agatha. To have to step away when another soul calls for her, if another war was to break out and she’d spend weeks away from the one person she wanted to be near. “But I want to. I have never wanted in my existence, Agatha…until you.”

“Then show me,” Agatha breathed, demanded, “Then take me,” Death’s hand curled against Agatha’s chest, crawling up to her pale neck, slowly losing all control over herself at the husky change in Agatha’s voice, “Claim me.”

The last loosened string of her rope of self-control broke by those words, the love and lust in her darkened eyes, the desperate desire dripping out of her tone. Death could no longer hold back, silencing the screaming dead witch with a single swipe of her hand that pushed her through the gateway to the Other Side, leaving Agatha’s hot pants as the only sound in her ears.

First, she didn’t know where to put her hands because she wanted them everywhere, but she settled on one at the waist, pulling Agatha flush against her, and the other at her jaw, holding her face near. She had to gaze into her eyes long enough to memorise the change in them, Agatha no longer holding her feelings back, and the pure adoration was enough for Death to finally break the distance between them.

The moment their lips touched, Death was certain she felt a cosmic shift in the universe; that had to explain why she felt a clench in her entire body, in the empty space her heart was meant to be. Their lips slid together and connected like they were made together and split at creation. As if Death had been here from the creation of the universe for the very sole purpose of waiting and waiting and waiting for Agatha to be here, to be hers.

It was innocent, just two mouths moving against each other, until Death let a tongue slip and Agatha let a moan slip. What became of them was far from innocent. Wandering, gripping hands, a body shoved against a tree, then body shoved against body. Mouth from closed to open, tongues gliding together in an unholy, dangerous dance, and the sounds. The soft ones of Agatha sighing against her lips, the sharp breaths Death had to take in at each scratch of Agatha’s nails, her love’s intoxicating whines when Death pulled back just to look at her before kissing her again.

“You killed for me,” Death whispered, not bothering to hide the love and fascination in her tone.

Agatha pulled back with a shy grin, chewing on her bottom lip which made them look even more enticing. “I am unaccustomed to courting Lady Death herself, so I did the best I could,” she leaned back in to quickly peck Death’s lips, “She was a bad, bad witch.”

Death gulped at her husky tone. “Was she?”

“Mhm,” Agatha nodded, raising a thigh against Death’s hips, forcing their lower halves closer together, “She was a bully, a mean old lady that preyed on youthful, more beautiful witches, babies really, who simply wanted help controlling their magic.”

Death brushed her lips against Agatha’s jaw, leaving a ghost of a kiss on her skin. “And what did she do with them?” Kisses under her jaw, stronger kisses down her neck, a bite at the junction between her neck and shoulder.

Agatha gasped at the sensation of teeth, nails digging into Death’s scalp which the latter found deliciously painful. “Took their power for her own until there was nothing left but flesh and bone.”

“And what did you do?”

“Don’t stop, please, my love,” Agatha whined against Death’s parted lips, legs stretched wide to make room for her lover’s hand.

Death chuckled, low and breathless. “I would stay this way for eternity, if I could.”

She stayed as long as she could; each and every moment she could spare, Death would find herself back in Agatha’s forest, the only place she found comfort. It would always be Agatha’s arms, Agatha’s eyes, Agatha’s legs so long and pretty, always wide open to invite her in. 

“Harder, please,” she begged. The begging was something meant to give power to Death, something that should only happen when Agatha has been teased and frustrated to the point of no return. But her cunning little witch has figured out a way to switch it around. She begs constantly, begs in that whiney tone, moaning it right into Death’s ear before biting down on her neck. She could never resist Agatha like that, and the witch knew it with that telling smirk.

“So warm,” Death muttered against Agatha’s pulse point, having made it a habit to nuzzle her nose right there, right where she could almost feel the throbbing of her heart. And the throbbing of something else.

Agatha clenched around her lover’s fingers, pulling her in deeper. “Please, can you not feel me, dear? How wet you make me, how badly I need you?” Agatha whined again, still teasing but with a hint of real desperation in her voice.

While Death was simply taking her time admiring being this close to Agatha, it seemed her witch had become impatient. With this, she discovered a way to spin this back in her favour…all Death had to do was hold on.

“Oh, I know, my love, you feel so warm around my fingers…” Death curled them a little just to extract a gasp from Agatha’s lips, before pulling away from her neck to shoot her a sinister smirk, “I wonder…Will you feel as warm around my tongue?”

The suggestion alone caused Agatha to let out a filthy moan coated with desperation. Death was too slow to kiss down her sweaty, writhing body, too languid with her kisses and marks over Agatha’s stomach. Agatha could hang on, could beg and beg with that same smirk as she refused to drop the power, until she looked down to see Death’s eyes. Wide, blown, brown, so beautifully powerful yet filled with worship. For her.

“God, please, please, please, I cannot! I cannot wait longer, my love, I need you, I need your tongue, please do not make me wait a moment longer!” Agatha completely broke, her walls tumbling down as she begged, truly begged, without that wicked smirk. 

Finally, Death thought, unblinking as she looked up and relished the image, the sounds, her little witch succumbing to madness for something as simple as a tongue. Her hair, wild and free, frizzed from the heat of their lovemaking; her eyes dark and blown enough to almost hide the blue; her lips, swollen and bruised from their harsh kisses. Death’s hand reached up to gently grip her chest, thumb gently rubbing against a perked nipple. This only made her witch wail louder, arch into her further, wanting all she could take.

“As you wish, my love,” she whispered against her glistening lips before swiping through her slit, immediately moaning at the heavenly taste. Her hand abandoned Agatha’s chest so she could wrap it around her behind, squeezing her impossibly closer.

She had never heard her witch this excited before, this broken, this mad as she thrashed and writhed against Death so hard that the latter had to use her other hand to hold her down. She gently pressed against the patch of hair just under Agatha’s stomach, enough pressure to keep her in place.

This was about Agatha, of course, it was about Agatha’s pleasure, but once Death got a taste? She never wanted to taste anything else ever again. She didn’t dare stop, just as Agatha had wanted, even as her witch cried and pushed at her head, having been pushed over the edge twice already. There would be a day. Death was so sure of it, so sure that there would be a day in the future when this would end, when Agatha would have enough of the disappearing, the Death that always follows, the inability to…to build a life with a family. And she wanted to make sure Agatha would be absolutely ruined for anyone else. No one would be able to make her feel as good as Death could. No one.

Death had Agatha every time and every place she could get her. Against a maple tree with Agatha’s legs wrapped tightly around her waist; in a bed of beautifully vivid azalea flowers Death conjured up; in Agatha’s creaky bed when Death appeared in a cloud of green in the middle of the night. They were tested to their limits to remain quiet that last time, but the thrill of risking Evanora’s angry appearance had Agatha clenching particularly tight against Death’s fingers.

“I wish to give you a name,” her thoughtful witch interrupted the silence between them, “if you would allow it.”

Death scoffed playfully. “Allow? I am not your Mother. Though she should not have the power to control you, anyway,” she added, wrapping her arms just a little tighter around her witch.

Agatha hummed, burrowing her face into Death’s neck. “I love when you are protective over me,” she claimed vulnerably, leaving a gentle kiss against the cold skin she found there. She left another, and another as she trailed her kisses up along Death’s sharp jawline.

Their eyes met, a soft look shared between them as words were shared in silence. 

I will always protect you.

I will always love you for it.

Agatha sighed as she shuffled around in Death’s arms, resting her back on her lover’s chest. They peacefully lay together, watching the gentle stream of the river they stumbled upon.

“Rio…” Agatha mumbled thoughtlessly, on the verge of falling asleep.

Death’s arms tightened. “What was that?”

Agatha lazily hummed, holding Death’s hands in her own. “Rio. It means river. I stumbled upon some travellers once. They taught me a few phrases of their language.”

Death kept her gaze on the stream, watching the water smash against the rocks and tumble into the fallen tree that stretches from one side of the river to the other. Wordlessly, she circles a finger against the back of Agatha’s palm, eyes on the tree as she carefully sprouts a fresh bed of flowers on it.

Agatha let out a soft, fond giggle at the colours. “Rio Vidal. River of life.”

Rio Vidal. Though she is Death and believes she can never be life, upon waking from her nap Agatha claimed Rio rushed into her life like a river, brightening it without a doubt, pulling her from the dark depths of her mind. 

“You are Death, yet I did not know Life until I met you.”

“Must you guide everyone?” Agatha asked curiously, her fingers playing with Rio’s hair. The latter mumbled against Agatha’s naked chest, reluctantly shuffling to rest her chin against Agatha’s stomach.

“Just the ones that require it,” Rio answered, leaving a gentle kiss against a bright purple mark she left just a few minutes ago, “The ones that struggle to let go…or the ones I feel drawn to.” Rio licked a stripe up Agatha’s stomach, so soft for her she could fall asleep in seconds if her body would allow her the privilege.

“You feel drawn to others?” Agatha said with a dramatic gasp, playfully gripping a fistful of Rio’s hair. She pulled her up, Rio reluctant to move so quickly past Agatha’s full, marked chest. Her tongue managed a swipe against a nipple before her lips reached her lover’s.

Rio sighed against Agatha’s lips. “Not like this. I—Never. Never before,” she confessed in a moment of vulnerability, seeking any sign of discomfort in Agatha’s eyes but finding none, nothing but glee.

Agatha connected their lips in a slow, sensual kiss. “Do you feel them?” She pulled back to ask, leaning back in right away.

Rio moaned into the kiss, fingers tightly gripping Agatha’s curves. “Every single one of them,” she whispered.

“How many do you feel now?” Agatha breathed into Rio’s mouth, twisting her hips until their thighs parted for each other, hips slotting together, slick against slick. They both gasped at the sensation, Rio immediately starting a rhythm with a slow, languid roll of her hips.

She wanted to tell the truth, wanted to scream ‘All of them! Every single one passes through like a thousand pricks to my skin’. But she takes one look. One look into those bluest of blues, those that capture the calmest trail of the morning skies and the silkiest glimmer of the gentlest waves so beautifully…so beautifully that she wishes she was not who she was. Wishes she was not The Original Green Witch, Death itself, a higher being burdened with knowledge. Rio wishes she was a simple mortal who knew nothing, for the simple want of being able to look into Agatha’s eyes and then, only then, truly believe that Magick does exist. Because she does.

She settles with, “I only feel you.”

They hadn’t said it just yet. My love at the end of a sentence is one thing, a simple term of endearment, though it does carry a heavy weight between them. But saying the actual words? Acknowledging that this thing between them is real love, a once-in-a-lifetime love? Hell, Rio would go as far as saying soulmates, if she had a soul, that is. They hadn’t said the words yet, though they spend every waking moment together, every moment they can. Though Rio has not taken another lover and she assumes – prays – Agatha has not either.

Clearly, it had been on Agatha’s mind given their next meeting after a week or so apart was tense. Rio felt it the moment she appeared, felt the distance Agatha was forcing between them. She allowed a kiss, and another, but after that she began to stroll aimlessly, trusting the forest to navigate for her. 

Rio followed – she always will – with her hands in a tight clench behind her back. She dared to let her thoughts run into the wildest directions yet. Will Agatha end this? Had she realised she did not want Rio–Death to follow her to the ends of the universe? Had she simply had her fill and–

“It may be,” Agatha suddenly spoke, still keeping her walk, eyes to the soil, “presumptuous of me to think we are something more. Something real and serious—”

Rio could not help but frown, leaping forward to shake Agatha, turn her around and hold her blushed cheeks. “Do you not know how I feel for you? Really?” She truly was in shock at the assumption, now analysing her previous actions. Every passionate kiss, every longing gaze, every gentle touch. How could Agatha doubt her? As if she does not have Death wrapped around her soul.

“Let me finish. Please?” Agatha pleaded and Rio had never been one to resist that, so Agatha nodded and continued with slightly trembling lips, “But I do not care. You may feel what you feel but I am certain of how I feel and I wanted to do this for you. It’s small, really, just a—”

Rio is thrown back to the first time Agatha gifted her something, that old witch’s soul. “A gift? For me?” She couldn’t help but lean in and gently kiss her. Once she pulled back, Agatha’s cheeks were even pinker, eyes bluer.

“Of course, my love,” Agatha allowed Rio another moment of indulgence, sighing into the passionate kiss Rio initiated. Her hands wrapped behind her lover’s neck, nails scratching against her scalp in the way she knows Rio loves.

“You are too good to me,” Rio moaned out as she pulled back for a moment, leaning back in to steal another kiss, but her lips ended up against Agatha’s palm.

It seemed the forest paused with Rio as she waited for Agatha to turn back around. The witch had her back to Death now, her hands swirling her purple Magick until she uncloaked Rio’s gift.

Turning back around, equally as giddy as Rio, Agatha presented her with a box. Rio’s shaking hands took it, held it like it was the most fragile, precious thing to her. It really was beautiful, a dark, forest green with intricate patterns painted purple. She traced them with a finger, gently feeling the bumps. It felt like Magick, like she was conjuring up a spell.

“May I?” Rio asked, hands shaking at this point.

Agatha nodded and with that she unclasped the box, revealing…

A heart. Anatomical, true to size, and the darkest of blacks Rio has seen. It was glossy, shiny, almost slick as if covered in black blood. With parted lips, Rio was ready to thank Agatha, until her words caught in her throat at the sound. A pulse. The pulse was there, loud, throbbing, so loud Rio was sure she’d hear it across the universe. 

“How?” She gasped, unable to take her eyes off it. A shaky finger grazed against the heart, tracing the veins and arteries.

“Magick,” Agatha raised her hand, tender and impossibly sweet against Rio’s cold skin. She warmed instantly at the touch, leaning into it without a second thought. It was hard to move her eyes from her new gift, but Agatha’s hand gently raised her head, and Rio was met with raw honesty, “As long as there is Magick in my veins, as long as my own heart beats…so will yours.”

“You–You did–Agatha, I do not know how to repay you for something like this. You are too good to me, my love, far more than I deserve,” Rio struggled to accept something like this, love like this. It was not something she thought was even allowed for her. It felt wrong, to be Death yet have a love so strong, to feel so strongly.

“Well, if you wish to repay me…” Agatha trailed on playfully, stepping back and leaning against a tree. Her fingers, cunning yet delicate, tug at her dress slowly. The hem rises from her ankles, up, up, up to reveal glistening lips and a patch of dark hair. Agatha bit her bottom lip, failing to hide her seductive grin and giddy anticipation for Death to pounce at her.

Oh, Rio will spend centuries repaying her.

Loving Agatha was unlike anything Rio had ever experienced. It came as naturally as her job, something she did not need to think about but just did. Like loving Agatha was something she was made to do. Rio quickly found that she would love her no matter what. 

Agatha with a sorry-not-sorry smile as Rio collects yet another soul pointing an accusatory finger at her wicked witch. Death simply smiled back, shoving her lover against the nearest tree and punishing her with a wild kiss.

“Yes, punish me, Rio, take me soul…take my virtue…” Agatha would whimper and moan, thrashing against her playfully, her head always coming back with a grin that stretched across her cheeks.

Agatha with angry tears streaking down her face at Rio’s disappearing acts, having missed her dearly, left alone for weeks on end.

“–and you just abandon me when I need you most!” Agatha yelled, screeched, smashed her fists at Rio’s chest, “Just as you promised to never do. Does your word mean nothing?”

“My word means everything,” Rio broke her silence at that, gripping Agatha’s chin in a single hand when she looked away, “No. Look at me while I speak with you, Agatha,” she demanded, risking an authoritative tone against her quick-tempered witch, “My work is not abandonment. It is something I must do, but please, please, my love, believe my words when I say you torture my mind every second I am away from you.”

Agatha rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Oh, you cannot feel pain. Do not take me for a fool, Death.”

“I told you that because I never have. Until you. Until I started to want, and the simple thought of losing what I want…tickles,” she held Agatha’s hand to her stomach, “right here. It’s twisted and rotten. It eats at me, and I do not know what it is–”

“It’s fear.”

“Fear,” Rio repeated, voice softer, almost in a mumble as she contemplated the word, the feeling. It took her a moment but she focused back on Agatha with a sigh and gentle kiss against her pouty, angry lips, “I would sooner abandon my power than walk away from you, my love. You must know this.”

Agatha took a sharp breath at that, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head. “Then do it.”

Rio, of course, meant her words in a metaphorical sense. Not because she would not do it in a heartbeat if she could, but because she simply couldn’t. She had been here since the beginning of time, collecting souls that would be lost, aimless and eventually angry without her. There is no replacement for Death; it comes for all, and all means all, past, present and future.

“I wish it were possible,” she whispered, frowning as Agatha pulled back from her yet again, this time moving to the other side of her room, “My love, please, you must know this is something I cannot give,” Rio pleaded, only following her with her eyes, “I have had only one wish and that is to be with you, always, forever,” Agatha continued to ignore her, arms crossed over her chest as she stared out of her small window. Rio knew not what to do to comfort her lover, knowing her deeply enough to see when she needed space. She dropped her head down in defeat, “I will not walk away from you. But I will let you have your moment. Summon me when you–”

Agatha scoffed, sharply turning her head with a glare planted firmly across her brows. “Summon? Oh, of course, you’re just going to disappear yet again–”

Rio sighed heavily with a fond smile. “My love, I will be sitting on the steps outside.”

“Oh.”

“And I will ignore every cry for me. Yours is the only one I care to listen for.”

With that, Rio shut the door gently behind her, stepping down and taking her seat. She must be ready for a numb behind as this would sure be a long wait. She does hear them all the time, constantly. Some are loud, souls screaming for answers, for help. But there are some quiet ones, soft sobbing that can almost feel soothing to hear. She focused on those souls, lulling them from here with whispers of ‘Soon. You will be at peace.’ But Agatha must be at peace first. She will always come first.

“Come to bed, my love,” Agatha’s voice startled Rio who was more than ready to dissociate by listening to her crying souls. It must have been less than an hour, she thought, looking behind her shoulder at her witch now in her bedclothes.

“As you wish,” Rio nodded her head once, following Agatha silently. They moved together routinely, Agatha stripping Rio of her green cloak, dress, leaving her in black undergarments. There is water for them both, though Rio needs none; she always takes a sip just to appease her lover, allowing her to indulge in the fantasy that they are simply Agatha and Rio, two lovers with no higher burden to shoulder.

Agatha sighed, only allowing her tears to fall again once she was safe in Rio’s arms. The latter pulled her closer once she heard the sobs and felt Agatha shake in her arms. Perhaps this is Agatha’s torture, that she only finds comfort in the very arms that are destined to hurt her.

“I hate that I love you,” Agatha sobbed harder, her words breaking a piece of Rio’s black heart. But Death could only shoulder it, dropping a kiss to the top of Agatha’s nest of hair.

“I am angry, my love. Angry that I am what I am, that I cannot be what you need me to be. I wish we were as simple as my love is for you. I wish it were easy, that I were easy. I wish I could hold you like this forever, that you may lay your head on my chest and hear my heart, God, I wish I had one. A real one, just to tell you it beats for you and only you,” Agatha’s breathing slowed as her sobs began to cease, “I let myself dream, sometimes. That I work as a tradesman, and that you are my…You are my wife. That I must leave you and you cry and strike and beg me to stay, and in my dream I…I am able to stay. I do it in a heartbeat, leave my work behind, build us a home, grow crops and trade from our very doorstep so I may spend not a single moment away from you. I dream, and I weep. I weep with want because I have never wanted to be anything other than what I am until I met you, and now…all I ever want to be, Agatha Harkness…is yours.”

Rio knew Agatha had fallen asleep moments ago. She let her tears fall freely.

Unfortunately, a war had broken out halfway across the globe. Long-bearded men with angry features, and thick, sluggish eyebrows, all hellbent on holding on to continue fighting. Rio had already been there for weeks, spending hours and hours on end to convince soul after soul to walk through to the Other Side. At the hundred point, she realised most of these men were only respectful to other men, so she changed her form to something they were bound to bow to. It did speed up the process significantly, but the numbers had been astronomically large so Rio did not return for months. Yet again.

By the time Rio’s head was clear enough to hear Agatha over the other souls, it was too late. She heard her, loud and clear, her cry covered in pure fear and sadness. Rio transported over in seconds, trading the grounds of war for something she feared was worse. Grabbing the nearest tree, she hid behind it just to catch her breath, to close her eyes tight and hope Agatha was safe behind her, safe and her soul still attached to her physical body.

“Mother, please!” Rio turned around at the loud cry, immediately sprinting towards the sound. By the time she reached them, their corpses dropped to the ground, weightless. Agatha stood at the stake, ropes discarded, vivid swirls of her purple Magick clouding around her. She looked…

“Agatha…” Rio whispered, gasped, unable to take her eyes off her.

The witch slowly turned her head, her eyes unrecognisable, purple, and absolutely filled to the brim with power, the sheer force of power sharpening her facial features. “They should have taught me to control it,” she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders before cackling louder than before, a wicked sound that had Death stuttering. Was this a test? Had Agatha finally found the bravery to show Rio her true self? One witch at a time until this grand finale.

“Agatha…” she whispered again, slowly descending to her knees. 

Whether it was in fear, disappointment, or loyalty, Agatha did not know. All she knew was power, the power she had just stolen from her coven, from her Mother who had tortured her enough and decided it was time to end Agatha’s life. Fools. Every single one of them.

Facing them was a fearful challenge but facing Rio at this point proved to be more terrifying than anything imaginable. If she were to turn to her and see those eyes filled with defeat, disappointment, even anger? Agatha would not know what to do with herself. How could she continue on a life without her Rio in it?

“Do not dare feel shame for the power you possess,” Rio’s voice was unwavering, strong and sure, “If my power would not kill you, I would…” she paused this time, stuttering.

Agatha turned her head, her eyes flashing purple to her lover. “You would…what?” she asked, getting closer by making a show of floating over the dead bodies with balls of purple in her fists. Rio could not keep her eyes off Agatha, especially as she got close enough for them to share the crisp air of death. The witch gripped Rio’s chin in her hand, eyes dark and dangerous, “Spit it out.”

There was a moment of silence between them, both their eyes wide and lips parted. It is a game of power, Rio thought. That is what love is. You choose to take it or give it up. And in this moment, she wished she had not an ounce of it in her bones. 

���You want power?” Rio husked out, shoving a hand against Agatha’s chest until the witch had fallen into a bed of flowers. Agatha noted there should be nothing but wet soil and broken branches on the ground, but her Green Witch was persistent in her sweetness, “Control?” Rio whispered, making a show of arching her back as she climbed into Agatha’s lap. The witch shook with nerves, lust, and excitement all at once, settling her trembling hands onto Rio’s hips, “Then take it,” Take me.

The cold wind stopped gushing for a moment, waiting for Agatha’s answer, but the witch could only look at Rio and think she really would end up being the Death of her. Their kiss sealed their fate for centuries to come, the path ahead set in stone. Rio had seen the worst of her, had all the warnings of the chaos and destruction bound to come, yet there she was, in Agatha’s lap with her head thrown back in submission.

Rio moaned Agatha’s name with each controlled bite the latter left on her neck. It was an angry scraping of tongue and teeth, lips leaving a brief, gentle kiss as if to soothe the red heat. “That’s it, sweetheart, take me, take all of me,” Rio panted into Agatha’s ears, licking down her neck filthily, rolling her hips against Agatha’s with desperate, untamed desire. Seeing her witch like that, high on power, gifting Rio souls, so dangerous, had driven Rio to madness.

Agatha whined into Rio’s neck at her words, one of her hands finding its way between her lover’s legs. Rio spread them as best as she could in this position, glad she wore a less complicated dress, a green gown of sorts. She bunched it up around her hips, revealing her naked half to Agatha who immediately pounced with her delicate fingers.

“Yes…” Rio hissed, moaned, whimpered as the witch brushed her thumb against her clit, pressing harder with each praise, “Right there,” Rio groaned, “Feels so good, my love, you feel so good.”

Agatha keened at the praise, failing her attempt at hiding how much Rio was affecting her. “More,” tell me more.

“No one will take me like this, only you,” Rio continued between heavy panting and whimpers, “I want no one but you, Agatha. Nobody is as good as you,” Her breath caught in her throat as her witch thrusted dainty, long fingers inside her with little warning. She could feel all of Agatha wrapping around her: her fingers curling; Agatha’s palm pressed against her clit; the distinct scent of lavender and honey gripping her lungs; those eyes, so deep, so beautifully bright and lustfully dark transporting her into the one place she has no access to, “If I had not met you, my love, I would have doubted the existence of Heaven. But you take me there, Gods, take me there, please, Agatha,” Rio’s words had lost their structure, turning into senseless ramblings as she begged and begged for her lover.

Agatha observed in astonishment at the submission, the easy handover of power. “My love…” She mumbled into Rio’s neck, bruising it with her kisses as she slipped another finger to join the other two. With Rio’s gasp, Agatha lifted her thumb to brush over her clit, just a single brush that had Death begging within her grasp.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she moaned filthily, rolling her hips up against Agatha’s touch, seeking, seeking, seeking…

“Will you?” Agatha panted desperately, ending her sentence short, knowing Rio understood her every word, “For me? Will you?” It took less than a minute after that for Rio’s hips to still, back arched up in the air. Agatha could do nothing but thrust again and again, pushing through the throbbing pain in her wrist. Her thumb circled Rio’s clit as she did so, keeping her right there at the top of the cliff for as long as she wished. It was all within her power, her control; she was the one who decided when to give Death life.

Rio’s cheeks turned a bright red, her face flickering back and forth to bones as she lost that little bit of control she had left. “Agatha,” She forced out with a heavy breath of relief, eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her fingers pressed into the soil, immediately sprouting a bed of purple flowers – violets, Agatha immediately recognised. She tightened, impossibly wet around Agatha’s fingers as a flow of honeyed liquid coats Agatha’s palm. It took everything in Agatha to keep from pulling her palm away and licking until there was not a drop left to spare. But she stayed, stayed there, stayed secure, stayed with Rio until her arch collapsed into the ground and Agatha with her.

They lay there, existing together and only together for a while. While they could. Agatha no longer felt fear, not like she had before. There was nothing but acceptance in her and Rio’s world, which is something she had never experienced before yet is all she ever wanted; undying, unconditional love.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” she whispered as the stars shone brightly above them.

Rio sighed, happily burying her face into her witch’s neck. “I love you, Agatha Harkness."

masterlist + guidelines

HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS ONE!!

[curiosity-killed]

i know i’ve rambled about this before but I think about it a lot with the various like “can reptiles/fish/non cat/dog pets ACTUALLY love you back” posts and articles about how to tell when your cat loves you and I just sometimes think it’s a little silly to act like love is both this grand ineffable mystery in regards to pets (or people) and something to be measured and assessed

like does Baloo let me hold her paw for a long time (a Measure of Trust according to many articles)? No, she doesn’t really like having her paws touched. But when she gets her head stuck in the back of a chair or her scarf’s caught on something, she stills the moment I touch her head and lets me—a big, strange creature (who frankly often runs into furniture and doorframes)—manipulate the most fragile and vital part of her body in order to help her.

love is an action imo. your dog doesn’t need to be able to comprehend the words ‘I love you’ to feel loved, and your snake doesn’t need to purr to show that it trusts you and likes being around you. love is going to look a little different in every setting and trying to both box it in and demand it meet certain criteria is just...kind of dumb

[mc-critical]

1.06 / 2.09 (33)

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!

[miserycanary]

BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you

tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence

He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 

That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 

The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  

What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 

Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.

You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 

“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 

Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 

“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.

Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”

Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 

The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 

“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“

You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 

God, what has he done? 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[hxnbi]

ღ blue lock boys and their love language

₊˚Ꮺ pairings: nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, itoshi sae, bachira meguru x gn. reader (separate)

♡ NAGI SEISHIRO◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

NAGI, even for his age, is extremely clingy. Whether it is day or night, busy or not, you will see a messy, white-haired teenager clinging to you like a needy koala. It was cute at first, you thought, that is, until you had to do your typical mundane tasks like washing the dishes, cleaning up, or even just doing something as simple as lazily looking at your phone in bed, for crying out loud. You're watching something? Oh well, now its we, all the while, as Nagi collapses next to you, holding you by the waist and pouting about how you didn't invite him.

“But Sei, I thought you hated gore?”

“I like it when I’m with you.”

“Uh huh…”

Though he loves games more than anything else, above all, he adores holding you in his arms, all the while he rambles on in short and scruffy murmurs, complaining about school and the supposedly awful cafeteria food. And keeping you while he's playing games in bed, with you watching him do so? That is Nagi's idea of a perfect date. What more could he ever want? All that he desires is right here in his arms.

♡ ITOSHI RIN◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

The dude doesn't have a colourful bone in his body. To those, even just imagining RIN having a significant other is enough to make those aware drop to an early grave. But, unbeknownst to most, Rin is extremely protective over you. To him, you are his other half, and he is willing to do anything in order to secure your safety above all else. And to also stay the hell away from his brother? Now, that's just a delightful bonus. To you, his sincere actions were his way of showing that he cared.

He considers himself to be your protector, and he will ensure you know this about him. You don't have to lift a finger; he's already on it. His presence alone makes your cheeks flush pink. The things that Rin does, whether it's to help you study for an English test or walk home together late at night, he goes out of his way to show his love and devotion to you and you only, even if it means taking on responsibilities and burdens.

♡ ISAGI YOICHI◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

ISAGI is a pure, earnest, kind-hearted boy—that is, when he's not on the field. But that's beside the point. Isagi is aware of his shortcomings and flaws, but he's not about to let that stop him from telling you all about him. Isagi is, undeniably, a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy with his unabashed display of affection towards you. For better or for worse, Isagi will let you know what he thinks. His love language becomes apparent. Isagi cherishes the intimacy of being close to his loved one.

He's all about being utterly and completely transparent with his feelings about you. Not even the most oblivious of people could see the way that Isagi looked at you and assume it was anything but pure adoration. Meanwhile, the others in Blue Lock would watch on from a distance with envy and possibly awe as you and Isagi were together. Or just plain disgust at the sight of romance in their vicinity. Everyone, regardless of what side they were on, had one thought in mind.

'Is this really the same guy from on the field…?'

♡ MIKAGE REO◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

When you're with REO, no day is complete without him taking you somewhere lavish, using his influence. You would often find yourself being showered with gifts and luxuries, but nothing is done without your consent, and Reo made damn sure that you were never uncomfortable. He has money, and he is not hesitant to use it. Nothing pleases him more than to spend money he believed to be mere pocket change in exchange for your happiness.

Reo is a busy guy with not only his studies but also being the heir of the Mikage Corporation and then Blue Lock. There's a lot Reo can obtain with money, but there are just as many things he can't—time. Interestingly enough, nothing screams fulfillment to him more than quality time, and utilizing his wealth to create those moments with you holds great significance to him—more than you could imagine—rather than merely simply buying material possessions.

♡ ITOSHI SAE◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

Itoshi SAE is famous, there's no doubt about it. Not only is he prided as the best player in Japan, but he is also recognized as one of the youngest. But that level of attention also comes with immense scrutiny. Sae takes pride not just in his football playing but also in his cold, blunt, and aloof persona. He has only ever cared about becoming the best striker in the world, but despite his own ambitions, he felt a simmering rage ignite in him whenever the media dared to mention you. Because to him, you were his other half.

He hated the press—absolutely despised it—and he was disgusted how every move you made, good or not, would then be scrutinized by reporters and the public alike. No matter what you did, people would give excuses that you didn’t deserve to be with him. Sae would make sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that doubt would never be cast in front of your eyes again. Doubting his love for you is his biggest fear, and it's because of that fear that he tries to spend every possible moment with you. Quality time is hard for a person like him to come by, but that gives even more reason to cherish the little time you both have. 

♡ BACHIRA MEGURU◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

Now, unlike Isagi and Nagi, BACHIRA is a delightful blend of both. He's just as clingy as Nagi, and his words can be just as endearing as Isagi. He is all over you with his words, adoring and cherishing you like there's no tomorrow. And to him, there really isn't. For his significant other, there is no point in hiding how he truly feels. This boy is unapologetically honest and is not above engaging in PDA. And so, when the opportunity presents itself, he is all over you. His eccentric energy personality really is contagious, and physical affection is Bachira's way of expressing love; it's his way of expressing that he genuinely loves you with no doubt.

During Bachira's childhood, he was actively bullied, which made him terrified of being alone. You saw that fear manifesting in the instances when Bachira, in the middle of the night, would tightly clutch onto you, showing no inclination to release his hold, consumed by the dread of losing you. At times when Bachira would be back home, he would envelop you in his arms, showering you with affection and whispering endearments, before quickly dozing off with you right in his arms like a stuffed animal, only to then oversleep, even after his alarm went off. With Bachira's phone buzzing in your grasp, you swiftly silenced it, opting to allow him to remain undisturbed in slumber as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. Perhaps, you can let him sleep peacefully by your side. Just this once.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

[rinnstars]

love locket!

keeping you in his locket when he can’t keep you with him by his hand

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, comfort, longing, established rs, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated!

rin remembers the first time you clicked the chain around his neck, a cold metallic string stinging his skin with its low temperature in contrast to his burning and red neck from the lack of distance between the two of you, hands fiddling with the heart locket at the front, looking up at the glittering heart underneath the low lights of your bedroom.

rin has never been too much of an accessory person, it’s a trouble he thinks, removing it before games and whatnot - discarded watches by his water bottle that gets left in the dust of his bedroom stand, hair pins requested by his teachers that get lost in the mess of his bag that are long forgotten by the time he steps on field, glasses that he finds little use for that he leaves in his case in a random drawer when he already has you. but rin supposes, it wont be too much - when he looks at your pleading face and lets the necklace hang around his neck, almost as though your icy hands are wrapping around his neck as you always do from the back. and he’s not too surprised when you open the locket cheekily and place that mini polaroid of you and him into the small heart locket: its characteristic of you, doing things like this. and its certainly no trouble when he thinks of the assosciation, that youre always with him in the little necklace he’s sure he’ll wear every second of his life, that you’re never too far in contrast to everyone who feels like they’re a million kilometers away, that youre his heart that keeps him breathing.

he likes it. strangely enough. rin likes the way the silver heart locket looks in contrast to his black uniform, black hair, and black shoes as though youre right on him, he likes the way it feels comforting when he holds it as though he’s holding you that warms his fragile heart, he likes the way it clicks open easily for him to glance at you and him whenever you can’t be with him: different classes, different clubs, different release time and what not. and rin thinks he learns something too: he learns that he likes your face a little too much that it resembles an art piece to him with the way his fingers traces softly along your features, something that he knows he’s too flustered to do in real life, he learns that this might be his new lucky charm with the way he kisses both the polaroid inside and the heart locket before each game and wins whenever he does so, he learns too that he’s strangely protective over it, using his hand to protect it and holding onto the back click of it whenever he feels it weaken a little and eventually fixing it in his bedroom late at night despite his strict schedule set for himself.

a simple gesture of love turns out to be his saving grace. rin’s never being that clingy he thinks - ignoring the way he practically clings to you like a koala bear and drools in his sleep whenever he naps with you after school before football club starts, ignoring the way he interlocks your hands and his whenever youre outside with him whether on an actual date or just walking home with him, ignoring the way he can’t stop refreshing your social media pages and messages for a hint of you. but yet, when he’s stuck here all alone in the blue lock, he’s never been more grateful for this little locket that keeps him sane. like a prayer, rin looks at that photo of you, memorising the smile lines on your face that he thinks resemble the finest museum pieces, the crescent shaped eyes that closes whenever you beam this bright like the sun of his universe, as though feeling that same arm in the picture that wraps around the him in the photo in real life too — when he goes to bed in pure darkness with only his ipad brightness underneath the blankets and wake up inconspicuously away from his roommates prying eyes, before, with nerves all jittery underneath the facade he shows with water drank still dripping down his mouth that he’s so used to you wiping away and after each match in the locker room, sweat dripping down his face and neck, his head dizzy with adrenaline still pumping through him as he shakily opens the locket and unconsciously smiles at your face, before and after he eats as though grateful for you to providing him food. rin wonders if you’re doing the same - looking through the piles of photos you hogged as though a squirrel before winter of him: candid photos, 0.5x zoom photos, couple photos, refreshing his chats waiting for him desperately to reply like a lovesick fool too, fiddling with that identical matching heart locket featuring the exact same photo.

rin wonders too: in the future, would it still be the same? when he’s overseas playing, will he too do the same? treating this heart locket like a secret treasure, opening it day and night and having to find someone to eventually fix it when the heart disconnects from the chain with the amount of times he opens it as though he’s a lonely maiden waiting for you to come home from war in the past history, treating his heart locket as another extension of oyu with the way he caresses it with his fingers, kissing the photo delicately and wiping carefully any stains that lingers on the metal: things that he’s too shy he thinks to do, treating his heart locket as you practically, whispering unsaid confessions and words at night while holding the heart locket right to his heart as though swearing an oath.

you and him are still young: rin knows this. yet, he can’t help but feel helpless this way. insecurities — whilst youre out with your friends from school during this holiday going to malls, beaches, sleepovers and whatnot, he’s trapped in this facility that feels more and more claustrophobic each day. will you forget him one day? will he one day be forced to choose between you and his passion? and hes back to opening that love locket for reassurance: that you gave this to him because you love him, because you don’t want him to miss you too much over this break, because you want him to remember you the way he needs you to remember him. if anything, he still feels like the teenager in love with you: it was just yesterday to rin that he confessed to you right in your bedroom that hes been in since he was a little kid as though a second room for him lying right beside you, not even fully understanding the word yet, it was just yesterday to rin when he cried for the first time in his life right outside your doorstep as he felt your arms wrapped around him as snow falls on both of you: and he swears you were his angel that night, and it was just yesterday that you sent him off to this blue lock facility for one chance in succeeding in this shared dream of you and rin.

and when your hands finally wrapped around him, for the first time, rin lets down his pride and whatever that’s left of him after that humiliating defeat by yoichi, and throws himself on you, wrapping his arms uncharacteristically around you. he doesn’t hesitate either this time, his hands lingering and tracing your arms, and then your face as he leans in: studying and comparing your new changes in contrast to that polaroid in his heart locket: your cheeks have gotten chubbier, your hair has grown a little longer and curlier during the break, and you’ve gotten a new pair of coat in contrast to the usual white coat you sport. and things he doesn’t do: pressing a kiss on your lips and melting right into it just as he did when he kisses your polaroid before and after each match, melting into the way your still cold hands wraps around his very being just like how it was right in that polaroid, looking at you with the same amount of lovesickness in his eyes the same way it was captured in that polaroid. right now, youre real: youre not just a polaroid in his heart locket, and he prefers that.

rin doesn’t mind being embarrassing or cringe: he just wants you. no heart locket could replace you, he thinks. you’ve changed so much just in a few months, and he loathes the fact that he didn’t see it happen: when you first learnt how to curl your hair, when you first bought your new coat, when you first started playing that game you text him about. and he knows it’ll be all he feels: when he leaves japan to pursue his dreams: he’ll miss your graduation possibly with games going on the same time as then, he’ll miss you turning eighteen too and same with you when he turns eighteen in a locker room preparing for another match, nd he’ll miss anniversaries physically, only calling you and buying you gifts from afar. and he hates that, he hates it like a little kid, he hates this yearning and longing and burning in his heart.

and he thinks, a love locket isn’t enough. hes always too much: as a kid when he destroys his and others toys in the playground and at home, as a teen when no one else caught up to his instinct on field, as a teen with too much baggage and personality for his peers to get to know beneath the surface. its selfish: rin wants to grow old with you: he wants this to last an eternity — hell, he doesn’t mind tying the knot now, make a paper ring the same ways he did right in class unknowing of this love burning in his chest, and maybe on impulse to give up his whole career and aspiration just for him to be able to stay.

but for now, he’ll smile and kiss you right as the polaroid goes off: tucking the paper right in his now slightly rusted love locket.

[pedroscurls]

Absolutely no obligation to answer if you aren't taking requests, but could I ask for Hugh x reader? Like Blake and Ryan trying hard to play wingman for them both at an event, only to find out the two have been quietly together/hooking up for a few weeks? Whether it be angsty or fluffy is your choice! 🙂

our little secret (one-shot)

summary: ryan and blake try to set you and hugh up, but little do they know, you've already been secretly seeing each other. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni) - unprotected p in v (creampie oops, be safe folks), fingering, oral - f receiving, hugh bends you over 🙂‍↕️, no use of y/n. word count: 2.7k a/n: i'm catching up to all the requests that have been sitting in my askbox, so thank you for waiting on this! i know you said it could be angsty or fluffy, but it actually instead became smutty lmao. i had a lot of fun writing this lol - love the sneaking around and eventually getting caught trope 🤭 as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

The entire night, you and Hugh steal glances from across the room. Either he’s with Ryan or some other group of people that he’s talking to and you’re either with Blake or on the dance floor dancing with her. You can feel the pull you have towards Hugh, yearning to be pulled into his arms but you have to refrain. You have to resist.

No one knows that you’re seeing each other, that you’ve been secretly having a very intimate relationship with him. Neither of you are ready for everyone else to know, so you try to keep your distance. Try not to make it so obvious that you just want him.

“I think you and Hugh should go talk,” Blake grins, nudging you with her arm.

You shrug nonchalantly, doing your best to look uninterested. “I don’t know, Blake.”

“Just one conversation,” she says. “You never know what can happen.”

Oh, you know exactly what would happen. If you and Hugh get a chance to speak tonight, you know that you wouldn’t be able to hide this secret any longer. Especially since the entire time so far, you’ve been trying to think of ways to sneak away from Blake and see Hugh. It’s such a busy event, such a huge party that even if you did try to sneak away with Hugh, someone would see the both of you.

And neither of you need that right now.

“If we somehow get to talking, then sure. Right now, I’m just focused on me.”

Blake narrows her eyes. “I can bring him over here and–”

“Blake,” you interrupt. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

Blake sighs. “Fine, okay. But if he comes up to you on his own, you’ll at least talk to him?”

“Sure. Would be rude of me to just leave if he tries to have a conversation with me,” you point out.

“Ryan and I just think you’d be so good together,” she replies.

“You think I’d be good with anyone,” you laugh.

“That’s because anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Aw, Blake… It’s a bit early for all these compliments, don’t you think?” you tease.

Blake rolls her eyes. “You’re right. I usually need a couple of more drinks before I get to that point.”

“Okay, ha ha. Can we go back out there and dance?”

“Yes, baby, let’s go.” She takes your hand and leads you to the dancefloor, glancing over her shoulder to see Ryan and Hugh staring at the both of you.

—

“So…” Ryan smirks, watching the way Hugh’s eyes linger on your frame. “You obviously think she’s–”

“No,” he interrupts, pulling his eyes away from you. When Hugh saw you for the first time that night, he had realized just how difficult it would be to keep things a secret. You look so beautiful, the dress clinging to every curve, and he wanted nothing more than to just take you away from this party so that he could have you to himself.

But Hugh tries to remember the conversation you had with him. This has to be a secret for a little while longer, just to see if this is more than just physical attraction. Hugh agreed, but the more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to get to know you. The sex was amazing, but the conversations you had with each other afterwards were just as great.

“Oh come on!” Ryan chuckles. “You should at least talk to her.”

“Not interested,” Hugh lies. “Besides, I already talked to her at your dinner party. She’s nice, sweet, but that’s all it is.”

Ryan arches a brow. “Seemed like you two hit it off that night.”

“Just being polite,” Hugh replies.

“Well, I think you should go and talk to her. See what can happen.”

“Ryan, no.” His eyes deviate to you and he tries to keep his eyes above your shoulder, but he can’t help but let his eyes take in your frame, your hips swaying effortlessly to the rhythm of the song. Clearing his throat, Hugh shakes his head and instead turns his back to the dancefloor.

“Let me be your wingman, Hugh,” he says excitedly. “All we gotta do is walk over there, dance a bit, and then–”

“I’m gonna get some fresh air.” Hugh interjects with a sigh. He knows if he stands here another minute that he’s going to break and he’s going to give in to Ryan because he wants you so badly. Even as he’s walking away from Ryan, he turns to look over his shoulder to see your eyes glued onto him. He gives you a subtle nod and steps outside, glancing around to see that no one but him is there.

With a sigh, he runs a hand over his face and lets out a sigh. Hugh likes you a lot and he’s become tired of keeping this, keeping you a secret. His mind begins to drift when he feels a gentle hand on his back and he turns to look down at you, a smile immediately lining his lips.

“Hey there, stranger,” you say quietly.

Even under the moonlight, you look so beautiful. Hugh reaches out for your hand, yearning to pull you into him and give you a kiss. “You’re really killing me with that dress you got on.”

“You like?” you smile, twirling in front of him.

“Oh, I love it,” Hugh winks. “Would look better if it was on the floor.”

“Oh, you’re naughty tonight.” you let out a quiet giggle. “What would you do if I told you I wasn’t wearing any panties?”

Hugh’s eyes widen and his gaze darkens. “Are you?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nope.”

“And you’re calling me the naughty one,” Hugh whispers, taking a step closer to you as his other hand moves to your hip, bunching up your dress in a tight fist. “Ryan’s been trying to get me to talk to you.”

“Oh?” you ask quietly, hand moving up to rest on his chest. “Blake’s been doing the same. I think they’re trying to play matchmaker.”

“They don’t know we’ve been seeing each other for the last few weeks,” Hugh chuckles, eyes drifting to your lips. “But seeing you tonight… It’s been really difficult to keep this a secret.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I see how the other women are looking at you tonight and I can’t blame them.”

“Not looking at them though.”

“But if you want to, you know you can… We aren’t really exclusive and–”

“I want to be,” Hugh interrupts. “I know we’re still testing out the waters, seeing if this is only physical, but I like you.”

“You know, I didn’t expect to have this conversation tonight…” you say quietly.

“Am I misreading this?” Hugh sighs, pulling away from you but you pull him back to you.

“No, I like you too. I just didn’t–” you bite your lower lip. “I just didn’t want to scare you away if I told you that I want this. That I want you. Only you.”

Hugh tries to hide the smile from appearing on his lips. He looks into your eyes and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“I do…”

Hugh then steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Good because I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Your hand moves up to gently grip the lapel of his jacket. “Please,” you whisper. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night and–”

Hugh leans down and presses his lips against yours, hand gripping your hip. He wastes no time in moving his lips with yours, hand slowly dipping lower and lower to your backside. You gasp against his lips, reaching behind you to grab his wrist.

“Mmm, not yet,” you whisper, pulling away slowly.

Hugh’s about to lean in to give you another kiss when you both hear Blake and Ryan’s voices.

“I fucking knew it!” Ryan quips, finger pointing in your direction.

“And here we were, trying to get you two together!” Blake laughs.

You lean against Hugh whose arm still remains wrapped around you. “Surprise?”

Blake rolls her eyes playfully and walks up to you, pulling you into a hug. “Surprise indeed.”

Ryan grins, clapping a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “So, how long?”

“Since the night of your dinner party,” Hugh chuckles.

“You fucker,” Ryan laughs.

“We wanted to keep it a secret,” you say quietly, reaching out for Hugh’s hand. “But–”

“I like her a lot,” Hugh interrupts, lacing his hand with yours. “Didn’t want to hide this anymore.”

“We’re so happy for the both of you,” Blake smiles.

“Thanks, Blake.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, I owe my girl a dance,” Hugh winks. He leads you back inside of the party and wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

Blake and Ryan join the both of you and once on the dance floor, Hugh turns you around in his arms, hands moving to rest on your hips as your bodies begin to sway to the music. It’s dark and the music is blaring, but your sole focus is on Hugh who’s staring directly back at you.

He runs his hands along your sides and back down to your hips, bringing you flush against his front as you feel the length of manhood hardening beneath his pants. You bite your lower lip, arms coming up to snake around his shoulders and link at the base of his neck.

Hugh dips his head lower, capturing your lips in a slow kiss. He moves a hand to your lower back as the crowd of people surrounding the both of you fades into the background. He gently nips at your lower lip, hearing you quietly whimper. His lips move from your own to your jawline, coming up to gently nibble on your ear as he whispers huskily.

“I need you bad, baby.”

“But the party–”

“How about we leave early?” Hugh runs his hand up your back and down to rest above your backside.

“What about Blake and Ryan?”

Hugh looks over at the other couple who look to be in their own little world and he chuckles, turning his attention back to you. “I don’t think they’d mind one bit if we leave.”

You bite your lower lip and then nod, leaning up to peck his lips. “Take me home then, Hugh.”

“Yes,” he groans lowly. “I’ve been wanting to take you home the moment I saw you tonight. Let’s go.”

—

You don’t make it far once you and Hugh enter his place. He’s on you like a starved animal, hands running along your frame, lips lightly attacking your neck and shoulder. You can feel his length pressing into you from behind as he shrugs off his blazer.

“You make me crazy, baby,” Hugh growls, gently grazing the skin at your neck with his teeth. “Like a fucking teenager all over again.”

“Hugh, baby,” you whimper. “Wait, we should go upstairs and–”

“No,” he groans against you. “Right here.” Hugh bends you over the back of his large couch, immediately lifting the ends of your dress to your hips, giving him a clear view of your backside and your glistening slit. “You weren’t lying… no panties.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

Hugh glances up at you briefly before he drops to his knees in front of you. His large hands come up to spread your cheeks apart as he licks a strip along your sex, groaning against you.

“Hugh!” You exclaim, hand reaching back to curl into his hair.

“Mmm,” Hugh pulls back and looks at your sex, gaze darkening at the sight of you glistening for him. “Gonna have my taste now, baby.”

Before you could even answer, Hugh leans in and buries his face between your legs. He doesn’t bother to slow down, groaning against your sex as you feel his tongue in your most sensitive areas. You’re close, knowing that you aren’t going to last that long with the way Hugh’s going.

He pulls back momentarily, chin glistening with your arousal as he immediately slides two fingers into your tight heat. Hugh then leans back in and sucks your clit in time with pumping his fingers in and out of you and you’re so wet that the sounds mix in with your loud moans. It’s so lewd and obscene and it only spurs him on even further.

Your grip in his hair tightens as you feel your walls begin to tremble. When you feel a tightness begin to build in the pit of your stomach, you grip his hair even tighter, holding him firmly against you. Your eyes clamp shut as Hugh continues his assault on you, urging you through your orgasm.

Hugh then pulls back and stands up between your legs, his hands coming to undo his belt and zipper of his pants. His fingers are wet with your slick and he lifts to his mouth and sucks on it as his eyes stare directly at your throbbing heat.

Once he pulls his manhood out, he gives it a few strokes before notching his tip at your entrance. He feels you flinch at the sudden touch, smirking to himself.

“Hugh, wait. I need a minute.” You tell him, trying to turn around but Hugh keeps you firmly bent over the couch.

“Ah baby, you can handle it.” He grins, running his tip along the length of your sex, catching your hole repeatedly.

“Hugh,” you plead, reaching back for him but he just grabs your wrists and places them firmly against your lower back. With his free hand, he slowly slides into your tight heat, the slickness of your arousal immediately coating his length with each thrust forward.

He releases his hold on manhood and instead moves to place it on the couch, gripping it tightly. Hugh fills you to the brim, groaning to himself at the feeling of your walls wrapped tightly around him.

“See, told you,” he grins, pulling his hips back. Hugh pulls out to his tip, glancing down to see his length slick with your wetness. Then, he slowly slides back in and grips the couch even tighter, not wanting to leave any bruises on your wrists that remain firm in his grasp.

“Fuck!” You moan aloud. Your walls are already so sensitive and you know that you won’t last long with the way Hugh’s picking up his pace.

“God, you look good like this,” Hugh groans, thrusts moving faster as he repeatedly slams into you. You feel every inch, every throbbing vein and when he firmly slams into you, you move your ass back against him and feel the hair at his base provide the perfect friction against your clit.

He pulls back only enough to see you slide back into him, watching your ass shake and jiggle as you use him to reach yet another orgasm. Hugh knows that he’s getting closer, knows that he’s about to come but he tries to hold off because the sight of you using him like this for your own pleasure just turns him on even more.

“Baby,” Hugh groans. “I’m gonna come and I–”

“Inside,” you whimper.

Hugh feels a sudden rush overcome him at your confirmation and he releases his hold on your wrists to place both hands on your hips. He groans and begins to thrust back into you, his skin slapping loudly against yours as he chases his own release.

“Hugh, baby,” you moan, moving your own hands to rest over his as pleasure washes over you. Your body feels limp, feels like you can just fall asleep bent over this couch, but Hugh’s sharp thrusts work you through your own orgasm.

After a couple of thrusts, Hugh’s hips begin to stutter and you feel his warmth begin to fill you up. His grip on your hips tighten almost painfully as he empties himself into you, every last fucking drop.

When he pulls out, Hugh can’t help the sight of his release slowly begin to trickle out of you and down the inside of your leg. He smiles to himself, gently loosening his hold on you as he turns you around to face him.

“I don’t think I can walk upstairs,” you tease.

Hugh smirks proudly. “Good, because I don’t think I’m done with you yet, baby.”

—-

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[sea-lanterns]

SILENT HILL

synopsis: (slasher! AU) you travel to an old town to find your missing wife.

featuring: dehya

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader (though she becomes more bold later on), dom! character who gets more subby later on, mentions of blood, reader is grieving, reader gets chased, transfem! dehya (she has a di.ck), fing.ering, unprotected se.x, cream.pie, masked se.x, size difference, size ki.nk, lap se.x, reader passes out, probably ooc, heavy pwp.

art credits: gokurakugai

It had been a while since you last came to this town. Through the thick fog and semi-chilly air, you took a deep breath and let your body relax after the long car ride. You had finally arrived at the small town that plagued your thoughts for months; Silent Hill…a quiet and eerie town that was the root cause of your recent sleepless nights, after you had mysteriously received a letter from your long deceased wife telling you to come here. 

You looked down at the faded envelope in your hand, the handwriting of your wife; Dehya, was unmistakable to a grieving widow such as yourself. Though it had been three years since she disappeared and “died” of unknown causes, you knew you had to come here. If your wife was still out there, still alive somehow and living in this rickety old town, then you would drive any distance just to see her again. 

Slamming your car door shut, you began making your way towards the town on a dimly lit path. Whether this was a hoax or not, you were clinging onto that string of hope that it was somehow real. After all, this town was known for its conspiracy theories and stories of cults and rituals. If any place were to have things that defied death and logic, it would be here.  

The town of Silent Hill was an ugly one. It was hard to feel any semblance of hope when everything was cloaked in a blurry gray. You had forgotten how mundane it was to live here, the residents of Silent Hill always appearing depressed or anxious. You felt a shiver go down your spine when a possum scurried across the road, so close to your feet and making you stumble. 

“Dehya–!” you stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, shock coursing through your body when you remembered Dehya wasn’t with you anymore. Whenever the slightest of things scared you, you would always call her name and she’d come running to comfort you and defend you from anything. But now she isn't here by your side…

‘Oh…’ Your shock disappeared and replaced itself with grief, wanting nothing more than to run into your wife’s arms again and have her hold you close. You closed your eyes and remembered how bright her smile was, a motivator to why you were here in the first place, before carrying on towards the gloomy motel where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future. 

After checking in with the motel clerk and moving your bags in with you, you settled down in your room and plopped down on the bed. This motel was severely outdated, the hideously patterned wallpaper peeling off the walls, the ceilings stained with something yellow and questionable, if your wife were here, she’d tell you “at the very least I’m here with you!”

You felt yourself crack a small smile at the memory, loving how positive she was no matter the circumstance. 

“I might get mold poisoning staying here,” You said to no one in particular, almost like you were trying to talk to Dehya beside you. 

“No you won’t! I won’t let my princess get sick on my watch.”

You could almost hear her laugh as she said that, her chivalrous attitude making you swoon even after all these years. No matter how much time had passed, you would always love how she treated you like a princess. 

“...I’ll save you this time, Dehya.” You said to yourself again, hugging one of the pillows to your chest and snuggling into it. It was far from the softest pillow you’ve ever felt, but during this time of vulnerability, it felt like the most comforting thing in the world. “You don’t have to save me this time. I’m going to find you.” 

With all those years of regret and guilt building up, you let it shrivel away and burn into motivation. This was a lead. One step closer to finding out what happened to your wife, and possibly finding her. 

You closed your eyes and went to bed, exhausted after spending several hours on the road. 

You got up earlier than usual. Usually you would sleep in late on days like these, too depressed to even crawl out of bed, but this time you had a purpose to get up. Your body was already awake before your alarm went off, sliding out of bed and getting dressed to find some answers. 

Even in the mornings, Silent Hill was a town of misery. The sky was still a dull, muted gray, and the air was even chillier than before. You pulled your coat even tighter around your figure, your nose letting out a small sneeze as you stepped into the outside world. 

You would spend the entire day just walking around, asking locals about the whereabouts of your wife, if they’d seen her or even heard of her. You would always be met with a dead end answer, but you wouldn’t give up. That letter was sent to you for a reason, and you were determined to get some closure on your wife if that was the last thing you did. 

The sky began to grow darker the longer you stayed out. Your fingers and your toes were stinging from the pain, almost numb from how cold you were. Your heart felt heavy, your body leaning against a nearby wall to catch your breath from running around town. You were exhausted, but you couldn’t give up. Not now, you still weren’t done. 

Deeper within the alleyway, you heard heavy footsteps, causing you to perk up and immediately regain some stamina. Maybe there was somewhere in there who could help you? You pushed yourself off the wall and began making your way deeper within the alleyway, the street lights turning on and casting the area in a cold, white glow. 

“Uhm…excuse me,” you turned a corner and saw a tall, muscular figure facing away from you, wearing something odd on top of their head. “Can I just have a moment of your time? I am looking for my wife, and…”

You trailed off when the figure slowly turned towards you, wielding what appeared to be a giant blade in their hand, and dressed in a beige, tattered up cloth that revealed most of their muscular figure. The figure had no face, or rather, their face was obscured by a strange, pyramid-looking helmet that sat on their head, looming over you like a great executioner of death. 

“Ah…” You had no idea what you were feeling right now. Shock, fear, confusion? You had no idea who you were looking at either, but at the very least you could discern that they had the figure of a woman. “S-Sorry…I didn’t mean to bother you…” 

What the fuck was that.

Your eyes glanced at the blade in their hand, the light from the streetlight shimmering across it and showing the faint splatters of crimson on the edge. Blood. You gulped and took a step back, the pyramid head figure tilting their head and taking a step forward. 

“I…I will leave now. Goodnight!” You whimpered and immediately began walking away, but your fears quickly caught up to you when the figure started walking towards you as well. 

You continued moving away but she kept getting closer, taking long strides towards you with her long legs. Immediately, you began getting nervous, walking a bit faster before breaking out into a run. 

Well, that was a mistake. Because now the Pyramid Head woman began running after you as well, her heavy footsteps thudding through the street and dragging her rusty blade across the ground. The noise was horrible, a grating sound that made the hairs on your skin prick like needles. You just wanted to find your wife! What were the chances that you’d run into a deranged, monstrous serial killer?!

As you continued running, you let out a shout for help, looking around desperately to see if there was anyone out tonight. Unfortunately for you, it seemed everyone had decided to go home early, all the porch lights turned off and leaving you the only one alive with the woman. 

The grating noise of her blade met your ears again, causing your heart rate to spike like crazy. You began to run your way back to your motel room, but it was on the other side of town and at this point your body began to exhaust. There was a sharp burning sensation in your lungs, the cold air not helping you breathe whatsoever as you felt yourself lose steam. Damn, it had been a while since you ran like you meant it, Dehya did always say you should workout at the gym with her to build some stamina, but you never really took her seriously.  

You definitely regret it now. Your legs buckled and you found yourself collapsing in the midst of another dark alleyway, the pavement scratching up your knees and making you grunt in pain. No matter how hard you tried, your body was tired, cold, and weak. After spending the entire day outside and begging for help, this was your limit. 

You stumbled on your footing and found yourself at the dead end of the alleyway. A large, rusted gate towering over you and cornering you with nowhere else to run. The grating noise of the killer’s blade drew closer and closer, trapping you in the box you’ve locked yourself in. 

“Dehya…” you whimpered, feeling all hope drain away as you scuffled to the edge of the gate, too weak to stand or even attempt to climb the gate for your survival. Was this it? So this was how you’d find your wife, by dying at the hands of a killer and joining her in the afterlife. 

You sniffled and looked up to see the looming Pyramid Head staring down at you, rusted blade in hand and tattered clothing blowing hauntingly in the wind. She looked almost like a ghost, like someone that was not meant to be here but was. The wind continued to howl, the silence between you two almost deafening. 

“...I’m sorry. I just want to find my wife.” You whimpered, still gazing at the Pyramid Head woman. “Is this my punishment for that?”

You were spewing random nonsense at this point. You were so tired and cold, your body shivering and looking like a frail little bunny in the eyes of the Pyramid Head. She tilted her head, almost conveying a unique kind of communication despite her gristley appearance. 

“...”

“...”

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds after that, your head starting to throb and making you wince in pain. You felt so dead at this point, your head feeling heavy as you lowered yourself closer to the ground, looking like a kicked dog. “Dehya…I really wish you were here right now.” You would imagine her protecting you, fiercely telling you to run or standing her ground and being your knight in shining armor. 

“Run baby! I'll protect you!”

You can’t, and you felt the bitter coldness swallow you in. Were you going to die from the killer or hypothermia? You didn’t know anymore at this point. 

Your eyes began to droop, watching as the Pyramid Head walked closer and closer to you. She swung the rusted blade over her shoulder, her hand reaching for your head before your vision blurred and you dropped limp to the ground. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t find you, Dehya. 

Your body felt very, very warm. Was this what heaven felt like? It felt like Dehya cuddling you from behind again, spooning you in her muscular arms and running her hands all over your tummy. You missed this, the feeling of laying with someone so warm and gentle. Perhaps you really were dead and this was your eternal fate, to be cuddled by your lover for the end of time. 

You wouldn’t mind that. However, your other senses began to awaken, telling you that you were merely asleep. Your touch began to come back, the feeling of a soft bed and warmth beneath you. Your hearing began to come back, the sounds of a soft fire crackling in the distance. Taste, smell, you tasted the dryness in your mouth, and inhaled the smell of burning wood and ash. 

Finally, your sight. Though you were initially reluctant to open your eyes, your body did so anyway, letting your eyes land on the rotting ceiling above. Well…this was a sharp contrast to the other sensations you’ve experienced.

Your neck craned to look at the side, your vision still somewhat blurry before focusing on the figure beside you. 

Dehya…? 

You could vaguely make out her long, brown hair and warm smile, joy filling your chest at the familiar sight. 

Dehya…? Dehya…!

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and opened them again, expecting to see your wife more clearly, but instead being greeted with the Pyramid Head woman that chased you before. Instantly, all that joy vanished as quickly as it came, fear and shock filling you and making you hyperventilate. 

“Wha…Wha…!” Your eyes went wide as you gasped for air, the panic settling in that the sight of your wife was a mere hallucination. A delusion.

The Pyramid Head loomed over you, her height absolutely intimidating and making you nearly whimper upon instinct. She was even taller up close, her muscles defined and scars exposed, looking like a modern day Amazonian if you had to describe her…

You scrambled on the bed you were on, backing up against the headboard and looking at the woman in disbelief. Were you going insane? You saw your wife! Why was she here? Why hasn’t she killed you yet? You gasped when she suddenly dropped the blade she was holding, the metal hitting the floor and causing it to echo across the walls. The sound made you flinch, and upon seeing how afraid you were, the Pyramid Head reached her hand over to touch you. 

“No–!” You flinched, but she didn’t move away, a warm, heavy hand cupping your face and holding it firmly. It was quite shocking actually, to see just how large her hands were in comparison to your face, squishing it with ease and making your lips form a cute pout up at her. The Pyramid Head tilted her head to the side, almost as if she was thinking underneath that behemoth of a helmet. 

‘Soft.��� 

Though the Pyramid Head was a quiet one, she couldn’t help but enjoy squishing your face. Despite the biting cold of October, your face held a familiar warmth that the figure could not put her finger on. Strange…she should’ve slaughtered you by now, but it seems like you were the one person that came here to not be punished for their sins. 

Perhaps, it was your desperate attachment for your wife that made the Pyramid Head manifest in a more…loving form. 

“Mmpf…” You attempted to speak, but she held your face in such a grip that your words came out muffled. Upon seeing that you were trying to communicate, she let go, but not before using one of her thumbs to prod at your lips, forcibly making you open your mouth. 

Well, this is very awkward. 

You let out a yelp when she suddenly pushed her thumb into your mouth, brushing over your tongue and seemingly admiring how small it was. Compared to her, everything about you was so much smaller, something that the Pyramid Head seemed to love. She was so confused, tilting her head as she continued sticking her fingers in your mouth, feeling the soft muscle of your inner cheek. 

“Hey–pffck–” You had enough, pushing her hands away and coughing as you wiped the spit from your lips. “You can’t just stick your fingers in someone’s mouth without their consent! That’s weird!” 

You hadn’t expected to raise your voice at this gristly-looking killer, but to your surprise, instead of getting angry and chopping you to bits, the Pyramid Head looked surprised and jostled back, her hands raising in the air as if to prove their innocence. 

That…motion. 

Your eyes widened as a flash of recognition triggered in your memory. Dehya. Now why was that appearing again? There’s no way that this completely coincidental motion would remind you of your wife. Surely not…

But still, there was a gut feeling in your chest, telling you to try again. You looked up at the Pyramid Head with curiosity, before uttering her name hesitantly on your lips. “D…Dehya?” You didn’t expect any results to be honest, but your breath hitched when she tilted her head, almost like she recognized it. “...No, it can’t be.” 

You felt your heart start to thump wildly in your chest, before you had an idea. If this truly was your Dehya, then she would always wear her wedding band on her left hand, engraved with your initials. “Can I see your left hand?” you asked softly, causing the Pyramid Head to oblige almost immediately. Cute, she was almost like an obedient dog. 

She gave you her left hand, shock coursing through your face when you actually saw the wedding band on her finger. Though a bit discolored and dirtied from being in a grim state, you could make out your initials on the front of the band. 

“Oh…my god.” You whispered out, excitement and shock coursing through your veins. “It really is you.” At this point, you didn’t care that your wife appeared as a horrifying killer, as your mind began to close the gaps and find other similarities in the Pyramid Head. Your fear must’ve blocked out all the clues, because as your eyes trailed over most closely, the resemblance –besides her face which was still hidden– was clear. 

You hugged her, your smaller frame clinging to her like a leech while you buried your face in her chest. The Pyramid Head –or rather, Dehya– let out a grunt when you suddenly engulfed her, her large arms instinctively coming around to wrap around your figure. Immediately, warmth and familiarity raised in your senses, her taut muscles flexing around you and making you break down into tears at being in her embrace again. “Dehya…I’ve missed you.” 

Dehya grumbled and looked down at you, running a calloused palm over your cheek. Even though she didn’t speak much, it was clear that she (or this manifestation of her) felt a deep connection with you and couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. Almost like instinct, she pulled you closer to her, your body straddling her thighs and making you yelp in surprise. 

“Mmmm…Mine…” She croaked under the mask, her voice raspy yet very much like your Dehya. Her voice sent so many shivers down your spine, a sound that you’ve missed after all these years of being alone. “I’m yours, Dehya. All yours. I’m not leaving.”

She seemed pleased by the response, her arms scooping you up by the thighs and pushing you down on the bed. You gasped when you felt your back plummet into the mattress, her tall figure looming over you and trapping you under her large frame. “I..I see you’ve missed me too.” 

She nodded and let out an almost primal growl, wanting to get closer to you if not for her helmet blocking the way. She seemed frustrated at the fact and pawed at your clothes, her blunt fingers wanting to tear off every pesky cloth you wore. “Off…” She grunted, the sound muffled but command clear. “Take it off…” 

You let out a small giggle at how eager she was being. After three years of not seeing each other, it seems that she was very touch starved. “Sure baby, I’ll take them off for you.” 

Though you weren’t sure if she could see clearly, she was definitely keeping her eyes on you as you removed each article of clothing. Everything felt so sudden but so comforting, your nudity being revealed by the second as Dehya resisted the urge to just pounce on you right there. 

Finally, you laid there in your nude glory, sliding your panties off and dropping them before Dehya couldn’t hold back anymore. She grabbed you by the waist and easily hoisted you upwards, plopping you on her lap and making your bare entrance sit atop her clothed member. Though it was limp before, it seems that just watching you strip was enough to get her hard, stiffening under your touch and rising to life.

She let out a soft groan and moved her palm to rest on your ass, clearly aroused and wanting you now. But, since this was Dehya we were talking about, she held back and gently swirled her thumb over your clit, wanting you to be wet enough first before taking her. After all, Dehya knew more than anyone how big she actually was…

“I’m already wet…” you pouted, wanting her to fuck you right away. Yet despite your needy pleas, Dehya shook her head, letting out a grunt of disapproval and continuing to finger your pussy. She knew better than to cave into your whines, and you wanted to comment playfully on that, if not for your lewd whimpers leaving your throat. “Dehya…!”

Her fingers were quite wide and thick, pushing past your folds and thrusting at a gentle pace. She really was a gentle woman, even in this new form of hers, waiting for you to become wet enough so she wouldn’t hurt you. God, this felt so nostalgic, your wife’s fingers burying them all the way down to her palm, before adding a finger or two to stretch you to her liking. 

You threw your head back at the sensation, your moans echoing through the room and making you arch your back in pleasure. She continued fingering you, admiring your lovely form and keeping a rough hand on your ass. “Good…?” she asked softly, sliding her fingers out before shoving them back in. “Good.” You repeated, eyes fluttering shut in bliss while she plunged in repeatedly, filling you up on just her fingers alone. 

If you felt this full from just her fingers, you could only imagine how full you’d feel with her actual cock inside you. 

Finally gauging that you were wet enough, Dehya slid her slimy fingers out of you and seemed satisfied at the aftermath. By now, she was already rock hard, her member straining against her dress and forming a tent under your lap. She was so cute…you’d remember how desperate yet controlled Dehya was whenever she was horny for you, wanting to wreck you into an incomprehensible mess but restraining herself because you were simply too delicate for her. She’s always treated you like a princess, and even now she was your knight in shining armor. Albeit, she wore less of a metal plate and more of a metal…pyramid head. 

“You look so pent up.” You commented suddenly, causing her to look up at you. You smiled and gently ran a hand across her dress, feeling her muscles tense up before relaxing when you trailed lower. “Don’t you want to get there already?” 

“...So small.” Dehya comments softly, her hand cupping your needy pussy and brushing over it. “Need to be patient.” 

You huffed and cupped her stiffie under her dress, causing her to gasp. If she wasn’t wearing that metal helmet you were one hundred percent confident that she was blushing like mad right now. “I have been patient…! I’ve waited three years to be with you again, Dehya. I need you inside me nowww…” 

Your whines struck a chord within her, Dehya grumbling to herself and shifting you on her lap. She was getting antsy, the feeling of your soft hand on her shaft making her lose control of her lust for you. She let out another grumble and complied with your demands, lifting up her dress and allowing you to see just how turned on she was for you. Wow, now that was a sight you’ve certainly missed. 

Though it had been a few years since you’ve last had sex with Dehya, you remembered her very vividly. She was quite large, mostly girthy but it was nothing that a bunch of lube and slick can’t fix. No wonder Dehya took so much time in prepping for you, though you knew she was always big, you always overestimated yourself and needed Dehya to wait like five minutes for you to adjust to her size. 

“...I’ve certainly missed this too.” You chuckled, gently running your hand up her shaft and feeling it twitch under your hold. Dehya groaned, getting needy as she wrapped a hand over your wrist and made a subtle nudge for you to hurry. You gave her a few steady pumps, a few beads of precum starting to form at her tip, before you guided her cock to your awaiting entrance. 

Dehya’s breath hitched under the heavy metal of her helmet, her head leaning backwards and letting you take over. You guided her tip to nestle sweetly against your folds, gently sliding it back and forth through your wetness before easing yourself downward. Though you were already quite wet, you definitely felt the tight stretch as Dehya’s girth split you open on her cock and made you stop halfway. 

You were already breathing quite heavily, sweat trickling down your brow as you struggled to accommodate her size. Dehya noticed you stopping, tilting her head when she realized that you were struggling quite a bit to go down the other half of her. “Sorry…” She whispered softly, holding onto your waist and gently massaging your skin. “I…I will try to be smaller.” 

“Sweetie, that’s kind of impossible right now.” You whimpered, but appreciated her attempts at comforting you. You placed a small kiss on the edge of her pyramid-shaped helmet, causing her to jolt in surprise before giving yourself a few bounces to continue easing down. With each small bounce, Dehya grunted and resisted the urge to slam your hips down to her lap, steadying you in her arms while you slowly took in more inches. 

Down…Down… Finally, you found yourself sitting right on her lap, your pussy feeling so full and hot from how deep Dehya was inside you. Now that she was buried to the hilt, Dehya grumbled and gently squeezed your hips as if silently asking for permission to move you. You had planned on just riding her and letting her sit back and watch, but it appeared that your wife wanted to be more active than you thought. 

“You can move me,” You responded, “Just…be gentle. You’re still quite big.” 

She nodded and slowly lifted you up in her lap, sliding out until only her tip was in you before softly pushing you back down. Her strength, plus the external force of gravity allowed for a very hard (and very pleasant) thrust, causing you to moan loudly and cling to her shoulders. 

Dehya growled and seemed to enjoy the feeling of your tight pussy around her, moving you up and down with ease as she wanted to feel more. She gripped your hips with a certain air of possessiveness, wanting to claim you and keep you all to herself, her blunt nails leaving small crescent moon shapes in the plushness of your thighs. “Mine…” She growled again, beginning to up the pace the more she grew addicted to your pussy. “My wife…”

She slammed you down on her hips a bit harder, her fat tip smashing against a rather sensitive spot inside you and making you arch your back. Dehya picked up on that easily, lifting you so that she could realign her cock to hit deeper. 

At this new angle, Dehya could move further, starting to thrust into you at a hotter rhythm than before. You had forgotten how rough Dehya could be when she wasn’t being your doting knight, grunting and panting while she pushed you down to the hilt. You didn’t even have to move or anything during your sessions with Dehya, as she would always serve you with the utmost devotion. 

“D-Dehya– Dehya…!” Your words came out all choppy and disorganized, her rough thrusts pushing each syllable out of you before you were ready. “B-Baby slow down…!”

She whimpered and hugged your waist tighter, resisting the urge to continue her brutal pace and obeying your command. She dragged her hips more languidly across your walls, making you feel every twitch and vein while your pussy grew more sensitive around her. “Dehya…I think I’m close…” 

She let out another pleased moan at your words and you felt her cock twitch more inside. It appeared you also weren’t the only one getting close, as Dehya was getting close to release herself. “Can I…nngh, come?” She whispered raspily, panting in desperation. “Inside? I want to come inside you.” 

Your cheeks grew hot at her ask, but you couldn’t deny her. Not after you’ve just found her again. “You…You wanna do it inside?” you whimpered, a small smile spreading across your face. “Alright then…Just try not to make too much of a mess.”

Dehya seemed quite happy at that, ramming herself faster until she felt her impending climax come. She thrusted once, twice, three times, until finally she felt herself tense up and release hot spurts of cum, triggering your own climax simultaneously while you were filled to the brim. 

Your womb felt so full. All hot and filled by Dehya while she continued thrusting to ride out both your orgasms. She definitely did not fulfill your request of not making too much of a mess, but that was okay. You were quite pleased with being filled with your wife’s seed, and being by her side again was all that mattered to you at this moment. 

Her thrusts soon slowed to a halt, but she didn’t pull out yet. Instead, she kept her cock still firmly deep within you, and simply readjusted your position so that you were lying more comfortably against her chest. “Did I do good?” she whispered, looking down at you through the small holes of her helmet. 

“Very good…” You whispered back sleepily, your body succumbing to exhaustion as you laid atop your wife’s body, her cock keeping you nice and warm inside. “I’m so glad I found you again.”

“Mmm.”

She gently caressed the back of your head with her hand, the other one resting lazily against your thigh, making you feel all safe and secluded. As you were slowly lulled to sleep in the comforting embrace of your lover, your thoughts began to reminisce in the journey that brought you here. The town of Silent Hill was one not known for its warmth and welcoming structure, but in this town of darkness and gray, you found the one thing that would make you stay forever. 

You had finally found your wife again, and you were never leaving her side.

[the-daydreaming-show]

❝never a tear, baby of mine❞ — Jason Todd

dick's version

Jason was a quiet kid. So quiet and calm that he didn't was totally a child, more was like a mini adult.

NOTE:

This is like REALLY late, because I had problems with my internet and the power on me going out, so I apologize for that.

As always, thanks to our beta reader: @igotmessymind.

And wiht no further ado, I hope you find wait worth it, I apologize again and that you for reading!!

XOXO ELLA.

This story is part or the BATMOM SCARLET WITCH UNIVERSE that I have create. I hope you enjoy!!!

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

WARNINGS: Mentions of child neglect; Jason (not his actual) mom death.

Contrary to popular belief, Dick was always the son who kept you and Bruce on the edge of your seats. 

People were always surprised when you told them this. Probably, because with those blue eyes and adorable dimples, your eldest son knew how to fool people so easily. But the boy had grown up in the circus and had more energy than a thunderbolt. You couldn't count the times you found him hanging from the ceiling lamps, practicing his pirouettes. He was the reason there was a strict rule at Wayne Manor about not taking your feet off the ground without adult supervision.

Jason, your baby, he was easy. People were shocked at this statement as well.

People expected him to be a little savage whenever you guys made a public appearance, whether it was at a gala or going to the market.

Yes. You had to keep him from talking to the press, because he had a habit of being verbally deadly, but other than that he was always the calmest of kids. But other than that, he never left his calm character at all times when being in public and in private as well. 

This unfounded popular belief probably had something to do with the boy being taken off the streets by you and your husband. Literally.

Your husband kidnapped a child from an alley in Gotham on a given winter night.

Mmmh, maybe Bruce was your most chaotic boy and not Dick like you thought.

You weren't in the batcave that night, so Alfred was the one supervising the computer. But when it got particularly late, just before the sun began to rise, you woke up to find that your husband still wasn't sleeping clinging to your waist like he usually did. So you decided to go downstairs to see what was going on.

You meet Alfred, waiting with a tray with three cups of freshly brewed tea.

“Are we expecting someone, Alfred?”  you asked as you approached the man preparing everything with elegance.

“That's right, Miss” the man said, looking up with amused eyes “Master Bruce has found company on tonight's patrol” he gave you the look of a father disappointed but not surprised by his son's actions. But before you could say more or ask questions, the sound of the Batmobile in the distance made you approach the platform where the car typically parked.

Bruce jumped out of the car, in his Batman suit, without any injuries that you could see, then leaned over to help a small body out of the vehicle. He was a boy, skinny to the bone, in your eyes, dressed inappropriately for the weather, and looking around with startled eyes. You looked at your husband in confusion, Bruce could practically see the question mark on your forehead. So he walked over to you, while the boy was too gawking at the cave to notice that you guys were talking to the side.

“¿Did you kidnap a child again?” you asked in a worried whisper.

“No” Bruce defended himself, pulling off the hood of his suit so that you could see all of his beautiful face in front of you. “His name is Jason” he explained to you while they both looked at the boy for a moment. Jason had stepped away from the Batmobile to look down at the edge of the platform at the void below you, his cheeks against the metal of the railings. (You were mentally grateful to have convinced Bruce to put those railings all over the cave, after that Dick started spending more time there years ago). “And I found him trying to steal the tires from the Batmobile. He was alone, and he told me that he intended to sell it to buy food” he told you, and you instinctively looked at said car.

That beastly car had almost been desecrated by the little hands of a hungry child, who didn't seem at all affected by the idea of almost robbing THE Batman. You found the situation amusing.

“Really?”, you asked your husband, smiling amused. 

All while Jason was looking fascinated at the ceiling of the cave and wondering: ¿Where did the lights hang from?. He couldn't see the roof of the place.

“Yeah. And he almost got away with it.” Bruce seemed almost proud of the boy's actions, and you couldn't feel the same way. Press your lips together in an attempt not to laugh out loud. 

“¿And how does all that explain your kidnapping him?” you asked teasingly, to which Bruce rolled his eyes in exoneration and giggled impishly at it.

“You are Bruce Wayne's wife” the boy's voice made them both look at him, but the boy was not intimidated and kept talking. “Which makes sense, because if Bruce Wayne is Batman, obviously his wife will know.” he said, more like a thought out loud than a conversation with you. “My mom used to say that she would die from one of the shoes you put up and that they showed on TV, but in the end she died from the drugs, not your shoes” he explained naturally. To which you threw your head back a bit in surprise at such a natural statement about something that must have been very sad. Looking at your husband and his eyes told you it was the first time he heard about this. “I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Wayne.” the boy apologized quickly, suddenly very aware that he was talking to two of the richest people in Gotham (and the world as well) “B told me I could spend the night here. But don't worry tomorrow, in the morning I'll leave without causing any problems” he quickly explained to you.

You looked at your husband again, and he left a memory in his mind for you to see as an explanation. He showed you how he had found the boy, how Bruce had talked him into agreeing to let him buy something to eat and then offered him a place to sleep, because the boy admitted that he was all alone. With a dead mother and a father who was in prison, the boy lived on the streets of Gotham, surviving as best he could. Jason hadn't trusted him at first, which was understandable. Who knew what he had seen living on the streets of a city like Gotham. So Bruce did the only thing he could think of to gain the boy's trust, so he could get him to safety, as he took off his mask. And Jason, faced with such a show of honesty, agreed to get on the Batmobile to return with Bruce to the cave. (Or, Bruce put the boy in the car before he could get over the shock of the news. It depends on how you look at it.)

“Oh honey. Don't worry, it doesn't bother me at all, we have plenty of space available” you assured him with a sweet smile to which the boy smiled back. It was true, since Dick had moved in with the Titans, there was too much empty space for your liking. “Come, sit down and have some tea, it will help with the cold” you said, pointing up the stairs to the main platform of the cave.

“Cool!” the boy exclaimed as they started walking. Bruce instinctively reached for your hand, not wanting you to stray too far from him, just because.

Then Jason ate a dozen of Alfred's cookies, drank all his tea, and at the end, Bruce let him touch the batcomputer, watching the boy's fascination with all the buttons. (Of course, the latter was under your and Bruce's watch. You didn't want the boy to activate some self-destruct protocol or something). He played with the satellite map for a while, showing you the places he had been and the school he used to go to before his mother died. Then he started to yawn, and you were sure the sun should have risen outside by that point.

“Well, it's time to go up” you said when you saw him yawn widely for the third time. “Come on” you stood up from your seat next to him to offer him your hand. The boy frowned at you, severely confused.

“¿Up where?” he asked, looking at your hand suspiciously, but rising to take it and follow you nonetheless. You had that effect on him. You were so pretty, and warm, and kind that he thought to himself, there was no way you were real, surely all of this must be a cruel hallucination of some kind.

“Up home, Jay” you told her as you turned to be greeted by a Bruce who had already come out of his suit and was waiting for them both on the stairs to the elevator. “We're below Wayne Manor” you explained, thinking that he was confused as to what was above your heads and why they would go there.

“Will you let me sleep in your mansion?!” the surprised boy asked. There was definitely something wrong there, there was no way two of the richest people in the city would let him sleep in his house, in one of his beds, with expensive mattresses and even more expensive sheets. Impossible.

“Of course” you said with a sweet smile, “We have many empty rooms and now one of them is yours”

“Your room is ready, young Jason.” Alfred told him, joining the walk to the elevator. “Though maybe an extra cookie or two was left in the room by accident. I hope that's not a problem for you” he said, smiling complacently, at which the boy laughed mischievously. You gave him a look that Alfred pretended not to catch, and they all went on their way while.

“I didn't think you would let me sleep at your house.” the boy admitted shyly, looking at his shoes, once again thinking aloud.

It took you a second to realize that Jason had thought she'd leave him sleeping in the cave, like a stray dog, and it broke your heart. You promised yourself to do everything you could to make that little boy feel like he deserved nothing less than the best in the world.

Jason didn't leave the mansion after that day. 

Social Services didn't put up much resistance to the adoption, for two reasons. Firstly, you and Bruce already had a pretty good record of adopting and raising Dick. And second, stirring up the issue too much would show how they hadn't looked for Jason after he had run away from his last home. From what you've seen, his file only contains basic information leading up to the fact that he was supposed to be in foster care with 10-15 other kids, but clearly they've been on the streets for quite some time. And Jason seemed to have adjusted quickly when the caseworker came to visit for the first few weeks, at least to her standards. But in your eyes, the child was far from having adapted to the idea of being part of the family.

Jason gets up early, before everyone else in the house.

You had learned from the experience with Dick that establishing a strict bedtime schedule was important in the long run. So you knew he was sleeping because you watched him before you went to sleep yourself. So the boy sleeps well and you could confirm it. He had admitted to you that it had been difficult in the early days to sleep at night because he could never really be asleep while living on the streets. Something about the heavy blankets over him made him fall asleep peacefully. His lights went out before he could even finish laying his head on the pillow. Of course, this one you had invested a lot of money in more blankets for the child, which was the only thing that Jason had allowed to be bought for his room.

He assured you that the room was fine as is, and it did not need to be changed. What you'd called bullshit all along, because there was no way a kid would like a room that was the closest thing to a blank page. But you hadn't pushed him, waited until he was more comfortable in the new  environment. 

So the boy was sleeping in a guest room he didn't want to make entirely his own. He was up before anyone else in the house, even Alfred. He would get ready and go down to breakfast alone. He got what he needed by scaling the counter and cabinets if necessary, leaving Alfred to clean up the marks on his slippers. This until Jason overheard him, after which he started taking off his sneakers before climbing up to find the cereal. He ate breakfast in silence, looking out the kitchen window at the patio, then washed everything he had used by hand, even though there is a state-of-the-art dishwasher in the kitchen. He then left the kitchen and got lost in the mansion. 

Bruce found him in the mansion's library a couple of times. Jason said that he was trying to practice his reading, since he hadn't been to school since before her mom died because he had to take care of her when her dad was arrested. Your husband offered his help, but the boy refused. And since Jay realized that his hideout had been discovered, he began to roam the mansion, picking random rooms to hide in during the day when you and Bruce began to keep him company in the library. 

The child hides and avoids both of you. You at first thought that was a repeat of Dick's first few months, that Jason was mad at the world. Consequently, you would expect anger and yelling anytime you ran into Jason around the mansion. You mentally braced yourself for the thought of all that chaos again, how he would sneak out of school when he started once the holidays were over and the whole package was over. 

This time, you were ready and prepared to help him with that rage. You won't let it consume you like Dick did for a long time because you didn't know how to handle it. This time you will do well.

But Jason's eyes would light up when you or your husband greeted him in the mornings after meeting him at the house. He clung to the hands of one or both of you every time you went out into the street. He would hug your waist when you hid him from the paparazzi in the park. (You had a no-photos rule for your kids, only official photos approved by you and your husband, so you and the paparazzi didn't have the best relationship in the world.) He let you guys hug him and look at him without problem. He never initiates affection, but he clung to it when it was given to him, both from you and from Bruce, or Alfred even.

So you were confused, to say the least.

However, you had learned your lesson with Dick. There were situations in which you had to be active and aggressive to help your children. So you talked to Bruce and you both decided it was time to talk to Jason about this peculiar pattern.

Then Alfred told you that if they both faced him at the same time, it would be too intimidating for the boy, causing him to shut down more than help.

Blessings be Alfred. He has always been the smartest in the house (don't tell that to Bruce).

Like every night, Jason had already gotten ready and tucked themselves into bed. Also, he had offered to help Alfred with the cleaning like every day, but the butler had refused as he did a lot lately. So he decided to do the whole night routine without bothering you: he brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, got into bed and read a book, like you usually offer to do. It cost him less than before, but still some words were complicated. 

You arrived shortly after he had finished reading his fourth story of the night and had accidentally gotten hooked on reading another one. You knocked on the door softly as you opened it.

“Oh, you're already in bed,” you commented, surprised that the boy had done everything himself. Usually, he lets you help with all of this without a problem, so you're disappointed that he won't let you help him.

“Yes, and I just read one story,” he said, quickly trying to hide that he had disobeyed the one-story rule. Jason didn't want you to be angry. He knew you wouldn't hurt him, but he feared your disappointment more than your fury.

“Really?”, you asked excitedly. You knew how hard he had worked to improve his reading these past few weeks to prepare for school. “That's amazing, honey,” you told him as you closed the door softly and walked to sit next to him. Jason smiled happily at your tone of pure joy and pride in his accomplishment.

“Yes,” Jason said as he closed the book and left it on the nightstand, excited to tell you about his progress, “I still have a hard time with some words. But I will fix it before school starts.” He made it clear to you right away, so don't worry.

The truth is that Jason didn't want to bother. Not you, not Alfred, not Bruce. In his mind, that was the way to be a good son. That was what his parents had taught him.

Willis Todd hated it when Jason was in the way. He always ran into him around the house (although that was probably beer-related), and that ended badly for Jason. So Jason learned quickly to stay out of the way so as not to be in the way, not in the sight of his parents, because that was good. His mother never said anything against that arrangement, so he always assumed she agreed.

When his dad left, disappearing without any notice (Jason eventually found out on the streets that he had been arrested and sent to prison), it became difficult for his mom not to see him since she had to do everything. But she was too high to notice half the time. And the other half, when she was aware of him, she wasn't aggressive towards him, she went from hugging him lovingly to crying on her shoulder. As if Catherine were the child and Jason was the father, she was comforting. Then she didn't get up after one dose, and the police came after he called an elderly woman who lived next door to her to ask her to call an ambulance. Then they put him in a couple of foster homes. But no one paid much attention to him, and it wasn't worth putting up with the other children, especially the older ones, who enjoyed tormenting him for being smaller. So he ended up on the street, taking care of himself. It was more natural for him to depend on himself alone than to let them take care of him.

“Well,” you said, settling next to him against the headboard, “but there's no need for that. That's why you're going to school — to learn,” you explained as you ran your hand through his curls. “It's okay if you don't know everything before that.”

“But I don't want to be behind the rest of my classmates, they surely already know how to read very well,” he explained regretfully, somewhat embarrassed.

Only once had his parents been called to the school he had gone to in Park Row. The teacher meant well, for sure. But telling her father that Jason seemed to need a little more help than usual with his reading and that it would be a good idea to move him to a school with a special program for kids like him only made her father see it. And that was never something good. He didn't want you to feel upset with him for that, either. 

“It doesn't matter what other children know or don't know, Jason,” you assured him lovingly. “It matters that you learn without fear of not knowing. It's not a bad thing to not know how to do something that's hard for you to do, sometimes,” you tried to explain, and the boy nodded slowly, processing the information you had given him.

Jason thought for a moment, absorbing what you said, but he was not sure how to respond in a way that would make you happy but not be a nuisance to your daily life. But you didn't let him get to a question because you asked him one in return.

“Jason, my dear,” you called, breaking the boy from his thoughts, who looked at you with big, blue eyes. So precious your baby was. “I have a very important question for you, and I need you to answer me honestly,” you asked him seriously, to which the boy adjusted himself with a worried frown to face you more.

It reminded you of Bruce, who made the same gestures when you talked to him seriously.

Your heart tightened with pride at how your two boys, Dick and Jason, were beginning to imitate Bruce so soon after meeting him. Despite all of his doubts, he was someone the kids immediately looked to as an example. You reminded him repeatedly, despite his complaints, because he needed to be reminded that being Batman wasn't the only way he could make a difference to people. He did it every day in his home, with your children, and with you.

“Yes, Mrs. Wayne - Sorry, y/n,” he corrected himself quickly, but you thought nothing of it despite the way he cringed in place at his own mistake.

“Jay, do you like being here with me, with Bruce, and with Alfred? Are you happy being part of this family?” you asked a little fearfully, sounding as soft as possible so that it didn't feel like an interrogation.

Jason was stunned. His blue eyes looked at you in confusion: Why would you ask such a question? Of course, he was happy, Jason had everything he could need to survive and the company of you and Bruce. Why would you think he wasn't happy with you?

You saw the confusion painted on his face the moment you asked, so you decided to elaborate a little more on the situation.

“You see, Bruce and I have noticed that you don't seem to be around the house much even though you're here. You even get up to have breakfast alone. It seems like you are hiding from us, Jay. Which is why Bruce and I are worried” you began to explain in a soft tone, “Did something happen? Is there something bothering you?

“No, there's nothing that bothers me,” Jason assured quickly, so worried about the situation. “I just don't want to be in the middle,” the boy explained, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Which made your heart break, and you wondered why he would believe that.

Would there have been any comments from you or Bruce?

Or something you guys did that gave Jason that impression?

Whatever it was, it needed a solution because it couldn't be further from the truth. Personally, you had missed having a child in the house, and so had Bruce, despite his attempt to pretend that Dick's departure hadn't bothered him.

Your husband and eldest son had a very ugly fight before he went to live in the Teen Titans Tower. He had arranged for you and Alfred to serve as intermediates. But that didn't change your oldest son's decision to move out of the house. A lot of his stuff was still at Wayne Manor, but he wasn't, which made it a little depressing for you.

“Why do you think you're in the middle?” you asked sadly.

“Well, I know it bothers adults when kids are all over them needing things and asking questions. So I try not to be too intense with you because I am very grateful because now I am part of the family.” Jason shrugged as he looked at his hands, trying to remove his cuticles. A nervous habit that you had noticed.

Unsure of what to do, you played it safe and hugged Jason over the shoulder with one arm, holding him close to you, while with your other free hand, you stopped the suggestion of pinching your cuticles by taking his hand and caressing his plasma instead.

You thought for a moment about how you could handle the whole situation without the need to abruptly destroy the belief system and give it a crisis. You also didn't want all of this to sound like a reprimand for believing something that couldn't be further from the truth, because it wasn't his fault. But you weren't going to leave things like that.

“You know, Jay. Bruce and I are not like other adults," you started feeling a little like Mean Girls' mom and her 'I'm not a regular mom, I'm a cool mom', which made you want to roll your eyes, but you kept going. “We love having you around. Dick got us used to that, you know, so we’d love for you to get in the middle as much as you like Jay,” you explained, and the boy looked at you with wide eyes, a gleam of hope in them.

“Really?” he asked doubtfully.

“Really serious,” you assured him with a smile, which Jason couldn’t help but quickly spread. “Besides, you can always know without a doubt that as long as you are in the middle of your father and mine, you will never have to worry about anything. Because you will be safe and sound,” you assured him gently, moving a hair from his forehead and then kissing the area lovingly.

“I like that,” Jason whispered, as if the thought had escaped him, looking at you with stars in his eyes. He really liked that idea.

Jason ran down the stairs while you calmly entered the house with bags of clothes in hand. Alfred was behind you with more bags and resigned to the fact that you had once again bought extra clothes for the whole family. Yes, you also bought him a couple of new sweaters, the kind he liked, but he insisted they were too expensive.

You didn't finish passing through the living room towards the stairs when Jason ran up and hugged your waist without thinking twice. Now, at thirteen years old, it would probably be time for you to start asking him to take care of the force with which he threw himself into his arms whenever he saw you. But the truth is that you didn't want him to. If you two fell, so be it, but you would never ask Jason to walk away. Not after what it was like the first time your son was in the house.

“Hello, sweet boy,” you said to Jason while hugging as best you could with the bags in your arms. “I got you another one of those hoodies that you said you liked. I got it in red, I thought that color would look good on you”.

Jason didn't stop hugging your waist as the three of you went upstairs to leave the bags so he could try on what you had bought him. Nor when, after trying everything on and being satisfied with his new clothes, you went back downstairs to have tea and eat cookies in the library. Not even when the two of them left there to greet Bruce when he arrived late from the Wayne Enterprise, and he received the same hug, but with more balance than you. Dick arrived, and Jason was still clinging to your waist until all sat down to eat dinner.

“Was I like that?” Dick asked in a mocking whisper to Alfred.

“Was?” mocked back the butler “Master Dick, you are still exactly like that”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh @kimmis-stuff @undecided-shipper @poppyalice2001 @lafrone @voodoo-writer @lilvampirina @astrial @maliagurl @kazhaelfuhghi @poppyalice2001 @totallynotme420 @calsjack @igotmessymind @pato-spoiler-27 @urminebutidontwantyou @cluelessteam

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: girl bye this whole part is just screaming n crying omg be prepared

prev next

authors note: wanted to make a little unexpected visit at the end given his character but yk 😋 let me know if u arent on the tag list yet !! interact w me thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

long story short, the group collectively agree to postpone this dinner night because of what happened. just as you left the restroom, drew was gone and were instead met by leila who told you they were leaving to eat at the pearl some other time.

you feel terrible that they had to witness what they did, and you assume they must’ve seen you and drew talking in the hallway for them to make this decision. they know something’s wrong between you two, and you almost break on the spot. it’s like the whole plan is crashing down and you don’t know what to do, how to move forward.

you and drew travel in different cars on the way home but to end off the night, the group splits up. some dress down and head back to explore the town at night or there are others who choose to stay home, just keep a respectful distance.

you rid of your clothes and step into the shower to collect your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to cry from frustration. the steam curls around you, the hot water beating down your back like it’s trying to wash the weight of everything away—but it doesn’t.

no amount of heat or scrubbing can erase the guilt, regret, and shame that engulf you.

when you finally step out, your skin is red from the heat, and you wipe a hand over the fogged mirror, catching a glimpse of your own tired reflection. your new clothes cling to your still-damp skin, and your hair hangs heavy and wet down your back.

when you step out of the bathroom, the cool air bites at your skin, but that’s not what makes you freeze. you see him—drew—walking toward your shared room. he’s freshly showered, his hair slightly wet, and you realize he must’ve used the bathroom across the hall that gia and roman share.

for a split second, your eyes meet, and you have to bite down on your emotions, hard, before you can speak. before you can let it all flood out.

you get to the door first, quietly letting yourself in, then leaving it open so he comes in too. the air between you feels heavy—like there are words unsaid. you can hear the faint sound of music downstairs, theo’s voice talking low, maybe to leila, but it’s distant. they must be trying to let you talk without feeling like you need to worry.

you step into the room, moving toward the dresser on your side of the room. your hand rests on top of it, gripping the edge for balance, as if the solid wood can keep you grounded. your back is to him, but you can hear him enter. he stands there for a moment, probably watching you, probably waiting for you to say something.

the silence is unbearable.

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

your voice comes out quietly, almost too low for him to hear. you don’t turn around, your eyes focused on the lamp in the corner of the room, as if looking anywhere but at him will keep you from falling apart. your hand tightens on the dresser as you wait for him to answer.

you hear him shuffle behind you, his breath catching like he didn’t expect you to speak first. “i . . . i don’t know,” he says, his voice just as quiet as yours. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you swallow hard, blinking rapidly as the familiar burn of tears threatens again. you know he’s trying to be honest, but that answer—it’s not enough. it doesn’t fix anything.

“you didn’t want to hurt me?” your voice wavers, and you finally turn, facing him. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you like he doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made. “this wasn’t even just a few days either. this has been weeks—weeks of us talking, planning, pretending . . . and the whole time, you were lying.”

as you walk over to him, he opens his mouth to respond, but you can see the guilt weighing him down, making it impossible for him to speak right away.

“not only were you lying to them,” you gesture loosely, meaning the others, everyone, “but you were lying to me.” you point to your chest as your voice cracks, weak and filled with betrayal.

his face tilts slightly to the side, and though he’s staring at you, his eyes are glossing over. you can see the weight of what he’s done finally sinking in, and it’s tearing him apart. he swallows hard, his throat tight.

“i didn’t mean to,” he whispers, his voice trembling now. “i never wanted—”

but he stops, his words catching in his throat, and you can see the tears threatening to spill. his jaw tightens as he forces himself to keep looking at you, even though it’s breaking him inside.

“no, but you did,” you tell him. “you made this decision. you created this plan when you had mila back home, drew.”

he winces at her name. you can see it. but you don’t stop.

every day, every conversation, every moment you’ve spent together, he knew. and he said nothing.

your words slow down though, and the weight of them sinks in deeper. “i had finally gotten to a point after we broke up where i felt like i was free of us,” you say, voice quieter now, but raw. “i didn’t have to worry about things like this anymore. i was finally done with us.”

drew’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but he can’t, and you don’t give him the chance. “but here i am.” you let out a short, breathless laugh, as though even you can’t believe the mess you're in. “i mean, i didn’t think agreeing to this plan was going to work out perfectly, but—”

you stop, searching for the words, your throat tight with emotion. it takes everything in you to keep from crying. you look away from him, your voice going numb, the exhaustion seeping through. “but i didn’t think i’d end up feeling like this. like none of it ever really ended.”

you stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything hang between you two. you wipe at the corner of your eye, then shake your head slightly, more in disbelief than anything else.

“so why?” you ask, “why didn’t you just tell me? why didn’t you say something from the beginning, when we started this whole thing?"

he looks at you, his jaw clenching, but his eyes are filled with guilt. he takes a deep breath, his face turned slightly to the side like he's trying to hold himself together.

“i fell in love with you,” he says, and you scoff. oh, he’s just now fallen in love? he realizes his mistake and gets up when you start to walk away, but he grabs you by the arms, “no, no, no, y/n please, i fell in love with this life—being with you again. i didn’t want to lose that. i’m still in love with you. i always have been. i just realized it too late.”

you can’t believe him. “but you did lose it, drew.” your voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “you lost it the moment you decided to lie. you didn’t just ruin this plan, this stupid fake relationship.”

you shrug him off of you.

“i thought,” your voice cracks, “i thought telling our friends the truth would make everything worse. i was so scared they’d feel like they had to walk on eggshells around us, like it’d be awkward if they knew what happened. but you know what? i wish i’d just told them. instead of this. instead of . . . all of this.”

“and it’s not just about mila,” you say, “even when you’re supposed to be my fake boyfriend, you’re still making decisions for me. you speak for me, like you always know better, like i can’t speak for myself.” you can feel your frustration bubbling to the surface, the heat rising in your chest as you push forward. “it’s like . . . no matter what happens, you still feel like you need to control everything.”

drew’s mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to respond, but you can’t stop now. the words tumble out, each one hitting you harder than the last.

“i mean, do you know how exhausting that is?” your voice rises, and you can feel your emotions slipping, coming out faster than you can stop them. “you made up the plan, you pulled back the moment i was getting comfortable again, even our breakup was your decision.”

his expression hardens, and you can see the conflict raging behind his eyes. “i thought we agreed there wasn’t any point in keeping up something that was barely there,” he says. “we were hardly talking or communicating, y/n. i mean, trying to keep up a relationship for us that wasn’t even really there? was it . . . do you think it would’ve been better if we didn’t break up? i mean—”

“yes! yes, it was worth it! i didn’t care if we weren’t always together!” you blink, caught off guard for just a second, but the fire inside you flares back to life. “and you said there wasn’t any point; not me. we’re busy people, drew, lives like ours don’t get spent every day how these two weeks are supposed to be. you have to know that. so i’m sorry that you felt enough was enough for us but you shouldn’t have had to decide what you thought was best for both of us and make that decision on your own without telling me!”

as you speak, you notice the way his face shifts, confusion and regret flickering in his eyes.

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “trust me, i spent nights worrying about us when we were together, replaying every moment, every doubt.” your voice lowers, becoming more vulnerable, almost a whisper. “and i told myself, ‘okay, that’s normal. that’s normal maybe. so you didn’t get a fairytale relationship; grow up.’”

“but i understood that . . . no matter what, i wouldn’t have left you because i loved you,” you cry, “i stayed because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

drew’s face crumbles at your words, and his gaze drops to the floor. you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you meet his gaze again. “look, i’m not going to say anything to anyone about mila,” you say. “but you need to figure this out, how we move on from here, and whether you’re going to tell her about this plan because i’m not gonna keep doing it if she’s not comfortable with it.”

drew nods slowly. he’s quiet, visibly processing everything. “i’ll do it,” he says, almost to himself, but you nod anyway. he takes a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally speaks. “i didn’t mean to lose you,” he says, staring at the ground. “but i did. i know that now.”

you watch him for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging between you, before you turn away. your hand reaches for the door, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

“yeah, you did,” you whisper, voice broken as you open the door and hurry through, leave him standing there alone. “you did.”

drew stands there, frozen in place as the silence settles around him. he watches when you walk away until the laughter from outside fades into a distant echo, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his body heavy with regret.

“—fucking—” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, and cradles his head in his hands while tears spill from his eyes. in that moment, he’s completely alone, engulfed by the realization that he pushed away the one person who mattered most.

“i’m gonna be back, okay?” libby tells you. you’re sitting in her bed, her and leila feeling like it’s only reasonable for her to step up, and she would’ve no matter what.

“hey,” you say before she goes, your fingers reaching her arm. she halts, looking at you again as she settles back down on the edge of the bed. “thank you for letting me sleep here tonight.”

she gives you a knowing look. “there’s no need y/n. my job is to make sure you’re comfortable and okay. your job is to get under my covers and drool on my pillows ‘til morning.”

“shut up,” you murmur and consider whacking her in the face with one of said pillows, but she leans forward to give you a hug. it’s gentle at first, and you’re relieved to feel a warmth from someone at a time like this. you feel like you can stay there forever, but she pulls away to leave the room.

there’s a knock at the door that startles you a bit, and you wait anxiously for who’s behind it. they open it quietly and peek their head in—roman?

he lets himself inside with cautious steps, and before you can speak he shushes you.

“keep it down, stupid,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows at him. he takes maybe two steps forward and then stops there. “i just wanted to say sorry for not saying anything before at the peel.”

“the pearl.” you nod, your lips pursed. “thanks.”

he deadpans at you. “i don’t do this very often so i’d appreciate more than just a thanks, you kn—” he pauses to rephrase his words, and you can see the gears shift in his head. he sighs. “i fully saw that you were upset and i didn’t do anything. part of it was because i didn’t know if i should’ve but the other was that the food was just really good—”

“roman,” you try to tell him to get out, but he persists.

“no,” he tells you. he tries to search for the right words before continuing, “i’m just sorry. i don’t want to make it seem like i don’t care or that you don’t have anybody to talk to. and i’m not gonna jump the gun or be all enthusiastic the next time this happens but . . . i just won’t be quiet anymore.”

you’re taken aback by roman’s unexpected display of concern. you can’t tell if you’re imagining this. this has to be the first time you’ve probably ever known him that he’s being like this. but you nod slowly, absorbing his words. “thank you, roman,” you say softly, appreciating the effort he’s making. “it means a lot that you care.”

he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory but pressing on anyway. “good,” he replies, his voice a little firmer. “because i might not always show it, but i do care. just . . . don’t think you have to go through stuff alone, alright? we’re friends, i guess, even if i don’t always act like it.”

you smile faintly, still surprised that he’s even still standing there. “i get it. i appreciate you saying something.”

“goodnight, y/n,” he says. just as he’s about to leave, he glances back, a knowing look in his eyes. “and just so you know, i get that things are complicated with starkey, but it’s pretty obvious you two aren’t really together. you don’t have to pretend around me.”

your heart skips a beat, and you feel a rush of vulnerability. how much does he really know? but before you can question him further, he’s already slipping out the door.

at the same time, libby slides past him with mugs of hot cocoa, “ew, what are you doing here?” she says to roman, avoiding him like he’s her brother. “get out of here.”

she kicks the door closed behind her, and her mood switches to a smile. “what was all that about? oh my god— did he hurt you? did he infect you?” she asks, feigning concern as she plops down next to you and handing you a mug. you take the mug and just shake your head with a grin.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull

[mothwingwritings]

Boyfriend To Death/The Price Of Flesh Sleeping Headcanons 🌙💤🛌

Hello everyone! In between fics I have been working on some headcanons, like this one, for your reading pleasure. :) It's some bedtime/sleeping arrangement scenarios feat. you and our favorite murderous companions. <3 It’s dedicated to all the sleepy individuals out there that just want to hit the hay and snooze the day away-I feel you and you are valid. Also there is a bonus plushie headcanon for each character because why not! If you don’t have at least stuffed creature on your bed, this is your sign to love yourself. Go acquire a friend and snuggle up with him, I demand it. ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DUE TO THE NATURE OF THESE HEADCANONS AND THE SOURCE MATERIAL, 18+ ONLY PLEASE!

Warnings: abuse/abusive relationships, noncon/dubcon, forced cuddling, forced interaction, forced relationships, implied kidnapping, being held against your will, reader is threatened and hurt, mentions of/implied sex, very lightly edited.

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Ren/Fox🦊

·         Exceptionally clingy when he sleeps. Honestly like a suction cup. Regardless of if he’s the little or big spoon, he’ll be latched to you the whole night. Wiggle and complain as much as you like, he’s not relinquishing his hold.

·         Even if you two are just taking a little nap together, he always has to have some kind of skin contact with you. Holding hands, cuddling, a limb draped over you, something.  He needs the reminder that you are there and that you aren’t going anywhere, he can’t sleep peacefully without it.

·         He’s warm. Too warm, really. Uncomfortably warm. In winter this poses no problem, but during the summer it’s nearly unbearable. You need to crank the AC to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of sweat, but the added cold only makes him cling to you tighter, increasing the heat. He doesn’t seem to mind the warmth at all and takes offense if you try and voice your irritation, giving you an earful (if not worse) over how you need to be more grateful for the affection he douses you with, warning that if you don’t watch yourself, next time it snows you’ll be camping outside with nothing but the clothes on your back. We’ll see how much you miss his warmth then.

·         He’s a night owl, but he also somehow always wakes up before you do. It’s not uncommon for you to be awoken by an eager beastkin shoving a homemade breakfast in your face, excited to start his day with his love by sharing breakfast in bed with you and watching anime. <3

·         Though sometimes he gets a little too excited in the morning, and if that’s the case you’ll be waking up to a very handsy man pawing at you, kissing any and every place his lips can reach, pressing himself against you so you can feel just how excited he is. It’s a good thing you are in bed because by the time he’s done you’ll be so worn out you’ll need some more rest. ^^;

·         Also, he is an avid fan of plushies. If you also collect them your bed is going to be 90% plushies and he is 100% going to use that as an excuse to be squeezed on the bed with you as close as physically possible so as you all can have room. None of them are allowed on the floor, no man is left behind, and he’ll make sure you all fit whether it is comfortable or not.

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Lawrence🌿

·         Lawrence is the exact opposite of Ren when it comes to contact. Though he may fall asleep with you in his arms (or vice versa), he very quickly grows uncomfortable with the prolonged contact, his body used to being the sole person in his bed. Very shortly after he falls asleep, he will unconsciously push you away to try and create distance. No matter how much he may yearn for your contact in his waking hours, he has no control over his subconscious actions. Often times the shoving is much rougher than it needs to be, abruptly (and painfully) waking you up in the process.

·         However, this does not deter him from making you sleep with him. Even if he ends up damn near shoving you off the bed, he wants you to be close to him for as long as and as much as possible.

·         Lawrence is basically nocturnal, and even if you are also a night owl there are bound to be some times when your sleep schedules don’t fall in line with each other. He gets a little excited when you fall asleep when he is awake, taking pleasure in watching you as you slumber. The way you lay near him, completely unguarded and quiet, only the slow rise and fall of your chest denoting that you are alive at all… It does something for him. More than once you’ve woken up to him standing over you, face flushed and tears in his eyes as he’s pumping his dick to the sight of your passed out form. If you wake before he can finish himself, he’s gonna use you to complete the job.

·         In fact, he just likes to stare at you while you sleep in general. He doesn’t have to feel anxious or worried of how you may perceive his gawking if you aren’t aware it’s happening to begin with. It’s a nice chance to really take in and appreciate your beauty without facing any backlash, and it comforts him to know you trust him enough to fall that deeply into slumber in his presence.

·         Doesn’t really get the point of plushies and never really had a strong attachment to stuffed animals as a child, so he doesn’t have any of his own and has no desire to own any. He thinks it’s cute that you like them though, and won’t deny you if you want to take one or two to bed with you. If you gift him one, he’ll be flustered but thankful, hugging it when he is unable to hug you. The little friend is a perfect cuddle buddy for when your sleep schedules don’t align and he doesn’t want to disturb you once you have fallen asleep.

·         Just be mindful that if he gets agitated or you piss him off, he’ll definitely destroy your beloved stuffies, tearing them to shreds with either his bare hands or any of the gardening  tools he has lying around. He’ll instantly feel bad if you begin to cry over it, but at that point it’s too late. It’s best to stop the tears before he turns the assault towards you.

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Strade🔪

·         Strade is all over the place when he sleeps. It doesn’t matter how big the bed is or how little space you take up in it, his presence is unavoidable. You can try and create as much distance as physically possible, scrunching yourself up in a corner in hopes that he doesn’t come in contact with you, and you’ll still end up with him sprawled all over you come morning.

·         He’s also loud. Snoring, grunting, talking in his sleep, he’s so noisy it’s a wonder you can get any sleep at all. You get used to it after a while (you don’t have a choice), but each time he nudges you in his sleep or wakes you up with a particularly loud snore, it’s all just another unpleasant reminder you are stuck with him, unable to find tranquility even in your dreams.

·         He has a tendency to latch on to and keep a close hold of whatever is closest to him while he sleeps. The moment he looks even slightly drowsy you try and stay away from him, not thrilled with the prospect of being smashed up against him for hours on end while he’s pleasantly off in dreamland. Were it anyone else or any other situation, you may find the clinginess endearing, but with Strade it’s just extremely uncomfortable and confusing. You spend the whole time unsure if you want him to wake up and let you go (and thus have to deal with an alert and active monster) or if you want to remain silent and just put up with it, thankful for the rare moment of peace.

·         He sleeps the best after successfully finding and securing a new victim, the gusto and energy that he puts towards spending time with his new ‘friend’ leaves him completely spent by the end of the day. A tired Strade is usually a good thing for you-if he’s worn out, he’s less likely to bother or hurt you. However the opposite is also true, if he hasn’t been able to blow off steam in a while he’ll grow antsy and restless, and he’s bound to make his lack of sleep and overall disgruntlement your problem. Regardless, you won’t get much sleep either way, as you find no contentment in either situation.

·         Though they aren’t really his thing, he is amused by your plushies. While he can see the appeal of them, the only real interest he takes in them is how you react to them. Which ones are your favorite, do you favor one character or animal over another, do you prefer the big and fluffy or small and squishy? Most importantly though, he wants to know how deeply your fondness for them extends and how/if he can use that as a persuasive tool against you in the future. Should they prove to be a promising means of coercion, prepare for quite a few new plush friends to keep you company in the future. :)

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Celia👩‍💼

·         She’s an early riser. Not necessarily because she wants to so much as it’s engrained in her from years of putting in overtime at her corporate job. If you try and pull her back into bed she’ll gripe at you, but is secretly happy that you are willingly making yourself a scapegoat for her laziness. Though on days she absolutely has to get up early, you best be getting up right alongside her to help her get ready for the day or you will be deeply regretting it. She always takes precedence, you can sleep more when she leaves.

·         She’s on edge most of the time and is overall a very light sleeper. If you snore or toss and turn too much, she’ll get pissed off and roughly shove you awake, grumbling obscenities while complaining about how annoying you are being. If she can’t sleep, she certainly isn’t going to let you sleep either.

·         Even if you aren’t a noisy or restless sleeper, she’ll still find constant things to gripe about regarding your sleeping arrangement. Either you take up too much room, or you are encroaching on her personal space, or you have some other sleeping habit she finds grating that you have no control over because you are unconscious when you do it. She doesn’t ever seem overly pleased to share sleeping space with you, and you often wonder why she doesn’t just banish you to the couch or some other place to get your rest.

·         And yet, she never does make you sleep elsewhere.  In fact, it only makes her MORE pissed off if you suggest it, taking it as a personal offense that you don’t want to spend time with her. She won’t admit it to you, but the act of sleeping near someone she doesn’t positively loathe or who isn’t trying to use her in some way is one of the few things that really brings her peace. Even if it’s against your will, having you in bed with her soothes her. It’s honestly the best sleep she has had in ages.

·         She’s not a huge cuddler, but she does like physical confirmation that you are near. Often times she’ll reach out in the night to grab your hand or drape her arm across your body, never smothering, but just enough contact to assure that you are still by her side.

·         She staunchly refuses to have any stuffed animals in her bed, telling you she finds them childish and stupid (whether she actually feels this way or is just pissed you are trying to bring things into her bed that take up even more space is debatable). If she finds any plushies you are hiding she will most likely throw them away on sight. You may be able to get away with a little one, but that’s only if she doesn’t find it or is feeling extremely benevolent.

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Derek🦂

·         The only time Derek shows any kind of ‘affection’ is when he sleeps. Like Strade, he likes to secure himself to things while he slumbers, and if he doesn’t fall asleep with an item (you) already in his arms at some point in the night, he will subconsciously grab onto something (also you) and not relent until he wakes the next morning.

·         The way he clings to you can almost be considered sweet. Wrapping his arms around you securely, burying his face into your chest or the crux of your neck as he snuggles up against you as close as physically possible, it makes you momentarily forget what a monster the man beside you actually is. It’s almost as if he’s a child huddled up close to a parent, seeking comfort from the things that go bump in the night.  The spell is broken if he happens to be awoken during one of these cuddle sessions, and he’ll take out his embarrassment over the situation by treating you even crueler than he typically does.

·         One of the few niceties he allows you is sleeping in his bed as opposed to the floor-but it comes at a price.  It’s an honor to be able to sleep next to him nightly in his huge, plush, expensive bed, an honor far too good for the likes of you. He expects to be compensated for his generosity, so you’d best be ready to do any and everything he asks or desires at the drop of a hat, no matter how degrading or agonizing it may be. If you want to keep this privilege while preventing as much suffering as possible, you’ll do as he says. (Then again, it’s not like he really needs your active participation to force what he wants out of you, but he does like when you obey him ‘willingly’ and has a tendency to be a smidge less cruel when you follow his instruction).

·         He usually forces you to either sleep nude or in some very compromising/uncomfortable/embarrassing negligee that covers so little you mine as well BE naked. He’s a blanket hog too, and has a penchant for cranking up the AC at night, leaving your only source of warmth to be curling up beside him. You try and fight it at first, but you inevitably give in when the chill gets to be too much (also you aren’t too keen on getting ill in his presence, swallowing your pride is worth it if you can avoid more suffering).

·         He will mercilessly make fun of and belittle you for any stuffed animals you may have or try to sleep with. He’ll infantilize you, asking if you need a binky to go with your stuffy, or tease that he’ll need to put you in diapers so you don’t accidentally shit the bed. However, even with all the constant mocking, he does find it kinda hot when you try and use the plushies as a shield, doing your best to conceal your sniveling face and exposed body behind the fluffy creature as he plows into you ruthlessly. The toy does a shit job shielding you, but it is hilarious to watch you try and hide yourself behind them.

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Mason🐻

·         Despite everything, he’s actually probably the nicest of the lot to sleep with. He’s warm and soft, and when he holds you it’s comforting and shockingly soothing. It’s disconcerting how easily you melt into the same person that caused you so much trauma and torment, haunted by the fact that the arms that now wrap snuggly around you were not so long ago the greatest threat to your life. You don’t know whether you should be more disgusted with him for holding you with such familiarity or yourself for enjoying it as much as you do.

·         The man can sleep almost anywhere. After years of surviving out in the wilderness he has honed his body to handle tough climates and all manner of conditions, granting him the ability to thrive in less than favorable environments. The man could probably fall asleep in the middle of a torrential downpour with nothing but a rock bed beneath him and come out of it completely rested.

·         You aren’t expected to immediately be able to rough it. He realizes this way of life is all fairly new to you and that getting used to nights out in the wilderness has its own learning curve. Because of this, he’s actually surprisingly accommodating about the whole thing. When you camp, he makes sure to bring his best tent and sleeping bag for you to use, even though it’s a hassle to drag around and he himself has long since forgone the need for it. Though it’s nearly impossible to find comfort enough to sleep while stranded deep out in an unfamiliar forest, surrounded by nothing but the pitch black of night, all manner of voracious wild animals, and a serial killer, he does his best to make sure you are adequately cared for and as content as you can possibly be.

·         However you best not slack with your survival instincts, this coddling is only a limited time deal. You proved yourself to him once by pulling through his trial, but that doesn’t mean you have a free ride forever. He’ll pamper you a bit in the ‘honeymoon’ phase, but if you grow complacent and begin to let him down… It isn’t going to be a smooth or happy time for either of you. Its best not to betray his expectations, if you do something overly stupid or otherwise show your survival was just a fluke… your sleeping arrangement is going to be the least of your concern.

·         He finds your affinity for stuffed animals a bit juvenile, but also slightly endearing. He can’t deny how cute you look when you are curled up in his bed, nestled amongst various furs and blankets, clutching tight to your favorite plushie while you rest. He enjoys that sight so much that he decides to make you his own plushie for you one day as a gift.

·         It was a strange little lumpy creature he cobbled together from various fabric scraps and other soft, but unidentified, material, all sloppily hand sewn with little black buttons for eyes. It was a true amalgamation of mismatched cloth and stuffing, and to be honest… You weren’t really sure what it was supposed to be. A bear, maybe? Or a raccoon? Regardless, you take it without question, and once he sees it’s been accepted he’s quick to discard your previous plush. He’s accepting of this hobby to a degree-you can have ONE. And since you were smart and picked the better of the two, you don’t need the ratty old one to cling to for company anymore. You have him and you have his gift, everything else is frivolous.

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (33/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The first encounter after.

Warnings: angst, some fluff

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: kisses to all of you. I love you so much. feedback is appreciated!

Although Raphael stood outside your front door in the middle of the night the other night, shouting in the hallway and insulting you, tonight was a lot worse. 

You lay awake in bed for hours, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling in the hope that the explanation for Charles' behavior was written up there. But the only thing you could see was the moonlight shining gently through the window, right on the empty side of the bed. 

It felt wrong to lie here alone and have the whole mattress to yourself. You lay as close to the edge of your side of the bed as you could, trying not to breathe in Charles' scent still clinging to the sheets or feel the chill his absence left behind. In such a short time, you got so used to his closeness that you were so cold without it that you had to pull the comforter up to your chin. 

But none of this helped you fall asleep or think about anything other than the man you would have loved to have next to you, lying just a few meters away from you in the living room. 

You've admitted to yourself that you would do anything for Charles, that you want to be someone for him to hold onto when the ceiling falls in on him, or to push him to be better, even if it costs you your heart. Even though you both emphasized several times that you were just friends - best friends, even - you always carried that little piece of hope with you. And although there had been several moments that dampened the spark, it never fully went out. 

Until last night. 

Charles seems to have clearly drawn the line of friendship, which you had previously only drawn very gently with a pencil, in thick, dark black. 

"All I want from you is your friendship."

There's a huge difference between agreeing to a friendship and being told that it's the only thing you want from someone. Whether you push aside the sexual tension for the sake of friendship to protect it, or deny every possible scenario, every moment that was more than just friendship and act as if nothing ever happened. 

The distance you needed last night to come to terms with your feelings and the final rejection was to buy you time. Time to extinguish the spark of hope inside you and get rid of the ashes before the fire takes you over completely and destroys you. But Charles had taken your escape from bed upon himself. 

You could never feel uncomfortable in his presence. And you had wanted it too. You even wanted more than he gave you at that moment - much more. You would have given him everything without hesitation - you would have given yourself - if he had asked for it. 

You almost feel a little ashamed of how quickly you fell in love with him, especially since you closed yourself off from your feelings for so long and lied to yourself. For seven days, you blocked out the voice inside you that kept shouting hypocrite so that you wouldn't have to admit the truth. And now, when the tears have dried on your cheeks and you can think clearly again, you also know that it would have been smarter if you had listened to that voice.

You love Charles. The Charles who only wants your friendship and has unconsciously broken your heart, which you were supposed to protect.

And you want to keep it that way. You would never let him know what he has unintentionally done to you. Not because you don't want to give him the satisfaction - you're pretty sure he'd feel bad about hurting you like that - but because, firstly, you don't want his pity and, secondly, the truth that you love Charles would ruin your friendship. If Charles knew how you felt about him, he would no longer be able to see you as a friend, just as someone he can't give what they need. 

He shouldn't feel obliged to be friends with you.

You press your face into the pillow. How pathetic to love someone who wants nothing more than friendship from you. Someone who has opened their home to you and you have misinterpreted their every word, every moment and every touch. 

Not even when Raphael cheated on you did you feel as sorry for yourself as you did in this moment. Although your relationship has lasted longer, in none of the countless moments have you felt as strongly for him as you have for Charles for days. And although those few days were emotionally challenging and exhausting, and at times you would have loved to bang Charles' head against the wall or pull him into bed, they were so breathtaking and fantastic that nothing and no one would ever come close to Charles.

You smack your palm against your forehead. The chances that you would die alone increase with every moment that you hope that Charles might eventually return your feelings.

You need to get over these feelings, there's no doubt about it. Since you've both already established that you can't be without each other and it might hurt Charles if you were to end this friendship - "I don't think you realize how important your are to me" - there's no other option but to throw yourself fully into this friendship and erase this boundary you've been walking on. If there is no boundary, there is no beyond. Just friendship, nothing more and nothing less.

Before you can really think about whether the idea is as good as you think it is, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. According to the time on your cell phone, Charles could already be awake, so you shouldn't wake him as you walk down the hall to the bathroom. Besides, you can't hide in your room forever, so you decide to just get the first encounter over with. Come what may. 

As you pull a sweater, which you make sure is actually your own, over your head, you pause for a moment. Would it be weird if you were face to face? Would you even be able to get a word out? And if so, what would you say?

"I think it's good that we're going back to the beginning, where we didn't share a bed or touch each other. We should leave so much distance between us that outsiders would question whether we're even friends."

Definitely not. 

Of course you need to protect yourself and the distance that's been between you since last night certainly helps you get over your feelings, even if it's strictly speaking the last thing you want. But what you want most of all, what you desire and long for - you can't have that, unfortunately. 

If this friendship was the only thing you could get from Charles, you would gratefully accept it. Having a piece of him is still better than nothing.

You slip into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and fluffy socks before sticking your head out of the room. Although nothing can be heard, you leave the safety of your four walls and almost sprint towards the bathroom, where you brush your teeth and comb your hair. The dark circles you see in the mirror are the result of a sleepless night, so you try to conceal them a little, hoping that Charles won't recognize them and then realize how much his absence has kept you awake and bothered you.

Semi-satisfied, you enter the hallway and trudge towards the kitchen, passing the closed living room door. Apparently Charles is still asleep, which is why you quietly take boards and pans out of the cupboards in the kitchen to conjure up a decent breakfast on the table. Maybe that's your thing - trying to bypass strange conversations with a good breakfast, even if until today breakfast consisted of croissants and pain au chocolat.

As you dice two bell peppers and small tomatoes, you hear the living room door open. You look up from the chopping board in front of you and see Charles standing on the doorstep to the kitchen. 

"Good morning," you smile, hoping your smile looks as genuine as you imagine it does. "Would you like an omelette? The bell pepper and tomatoes are ready." Without waiting for an answer, you open the fridge and take some eggs out of the carton before placing them on the kitchen island next to the peppers. "I wanted to make you a coffee too, but I didn't know when you'd wake up and it would be a shame if it got cold."

Charles' gaze wanders from your face to the food in front of you before he looks at you in confusion. "Uh, yeah. Thanks." He scratches the back of his neck nervously before pointing weakly towards the bathroom. "I'm just going to freshen up. I'll be right back."

"I'm here," you say cheerfully, trying to ignore the fact that his hair is sticking out of his head in a disheveled mess and how ravishing it makes him look. "I'm not going anywhere."

As you hear the bathroom door slam shut, you exhale in relief. So far it's gone better than you expected, even though it's been less than ten sentences and you can't interpret Charles' confusion. Did he expect you to stay sadly holed up in your room and not dare to leave? Or was he confused because you were preparing breakfast for him?

Lost in thought, you fry his omelette in the hot pan and make coffee, which you place in a large cup on the counter in front of you. You serve the finished omelette on a plate as Charles returns to the kitchen. He hesitantly sits down opposite you and examines the meal in front of him. 

"Everything all right?" you ask him with a raised eyebrow, supporting yourself with your hands on the worktop. "Does it look that awful? I know I'm not a five-star chef, but I don't think it looks that bad."

Charles opens his eyes and shakes his head. "No, no! Everything's fine. It looks great." He picks up his knife and fork and smiles at you. "Thank you. I wasn't expecting that."

You wave it off before turning around and washing your hands in the sink. After all the thoughts you've had this morning, you've lost your appetite. "No problem. We live together and friends cook for each other." You know that's not what he meant, but you don't want to talk about last night. About his touch, his thigh between your legs, the look on his face when he told you he was going to sleep on the couch.

Charles clears his throat, but doesn't respond either. "How did you sleep?" he asks instead, before shoving a piece of egg into his mouth. 

You turn back to him. "Just fine," you lie, hoping that the concealer under your eyes is doing its job. "I was a bit cold, but I was fine. And you? How was the couch?"

Your roommate shrugs. "Definitely more comfortable than the one in the other apartment." He takes a sip of coffee. "But I'll still be glad when my bed arrives soon. I got an email saying it should be delivered in the next few days."

You look at him in confusion. " On Christmas?"

Charles shakes his head. "After Christmas. I think it's the day Lando invited you and me to party."

He doesn't even say it. The us. The idea that there could be more between you than friendship seems that absurd to him. You try not to let on how much this is affecting you. 

"Okay." You chew the inside of your cheek. "If you want to go partying with Lando, I can stay here if the bed hasn't been delivered yet," you offer. "Then you can have a nice evening."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Why would you stay here when it's my bed?"

Maybe because you don't want to see Charles flirting with other women? Or even going home with them?

You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know how much you want to stay here and sit around waiting when you could go out partying with your friends. After all, you said yes to him."

Charles places his cutlery on the plate in front of him a little more firmly than necessary. "What's that supposed to mean? Don't you want to go out at all?"

"I didn't say that." You cross your arms in front of your chest. "I just offered. Because friends do each other favors." Because friends help each other.

"Then why do you want to stay here so badly?" he asks, annoyed. "Don't you want to spend the evening with us? Or rather, with me?" There is an angry glint in his eyes.

"I didn't say that!" you defend yourself. 

Charles gets up from his chair and circles the kitchen island before standing directly in front of you. "Why are you distancing yourself from me like that? Am I so awful that you don't even want to spend the evening with me anymore?"

Quite the opposite. You would love to cling to him and never let him go again. But the thought of seeing him with another woman makes you feel sick. But you can't tell him that, so you stare at him silently. You can feel tears stinging your eyes. 

"I'm sorry that you feel uncomfortable and I'll do everything I can to make sure this friendship doesn't go down the drain," he sighs softly. "If it means never touching you again, then that's what I'll do. If you want to go back to the beginning, then that's what I'll do. But please -" His voice is more of a plea than a request. "Please don't shut me out of your life. It may sound selfish of me, but I can't - please stay with me."

The angry glint in his eyes has gone out, instead you see tears flash and all you want to do is wrap your arms around him and hold him so tightly to you until neither of you can breathe and you would die a happy death because it would be in his arms. 

But you have to protect yourself, your heart, which is why you only smile slightly at him. "I told you." Your muscles ache, you have to restrain yourself so much from touching him and showing him that you're exactly where you want to be. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Charles breathes a sigh of relief and turns away briefly so you can't see him wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes before turning back to you. "All right then." He stands up straight in front of you and tries to play the tough guy, but his shaky voice betrays him. 

You look uncertainly at the plate still on the worktop. "Besides, I don't want to miss your mother's Christmas dinner. I think she'd haunt me and decapitate me if I didn't show up."

Charles laughs. "I'm afraid so, too."

You stand facing each other in silence for a moment until something occurs to you. "You said to your mother yesterday that we had a lot to do today. Was that serious or just a white lie so we could get home quicker?"

Charles bites his lower lip for a moment before reaching for his cell phone, which is lying next to the plate on the worktop. He presses the button on the side twice before sliding his finger across the screen. After a minute, he looks at you. "I meant that for real. I thought maybe you and I could do something today so you wouldn't lose your photography skills."

You give him a mock scowl, but can't help smiling. "And that would be?" He holds out his phone to you with the weather app open. The weather forecast for today is unusually good, almost twenty degrees. You look at him, confused. "Okay? And what does that mean?"

Charles puts his phone in the pocket of his black jogging bottoms. "I thought maybe you and I could go out on the boat. My fans haven't received any new pictures of me for a few days. Maybe you'd like to take some of me?" he suggests. 

You look at him, puzzled. "You really want me to take photos for your Instagram account? Your official Instagram account?" you ask skeptically. When he nods, you tilt your head. "What happened to 'I'm trying to protect you'? Have you thrown your principles overboard now?" 

"Was that pun intentional?"

"Maybe."

He rolls his eyes. "Listen. Kika has already tagged you in her pictures, so I think it would be fine if you took some of mine too. I don't necessarily have to tag you in them and push my luck. But you're good at what you do and Joris doesn't have time for me at the moment to take professional photos with me. And on the way to the harbor, I'll keep a low profile so that no one else sees you and me."

You purse your lips. "So I'm just your second choice, hm?"

He comes a little closer to you, but doesn't touch you. "You're always my first choice." His breath brushes over your face. "So, what do you say? Spend the day with me on a nice boat?"

"Depends," you reply, raising an eyebrow. "What's in it for me if I can't get any publicity from you?"

Charles has to grin. "There's a chef on the boat who will prepare anything you want."

You pretend to think for a moment before shaking your head. "Not good enough for me."

"There's a great bar where you can get drunk," he continues to offer, but again you wave his offer away. 

"Nope."

Charles takes a deep breath before running a hand through his hair and then leaning so elegantly against the kitchen island and leaning towards you that your heart skips a beat. "I'll let you steer the boat." As your grin widens and almost reaches your ears, it's obvious he's got you hooked. "So, would you like to spend the day on a boat with me, mon amo - ami?" he quickly corrects himself. 

You heard him anyway. And inside you wonder whether he calls all his female friends that. Maybe it's a habit he has that he's trying to break just for you. So that you don't feel uncomfortable, even though it triggers the complete opposite in you, which you try to ignore.

"As long as I'm allowed to steer the boat," you reply.

Charles' hand, which is hanging at his side, twitches briefly, as if he's trying hard not to lift it up and place it against your cheek.

"Deal."

[librababe99]

Echoes of Her: Part Three

A/N: Hey y'all ! I'm back with the final part of "Echoes of Her" ♡ I seriously want to thank everyone for your comments, reblogs and interactions with this mini series. I loved being able to write this and bring these ideas to life! Again, y'all mean so much to me...so THANK YOU! Stay tuned for more soon ♡ - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ Word Count: 1738 CW: Angst, love triangle, hurt with comfort (Part one) (Part Two)

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The days following your conversation with Logan were a torment you hadn’t anticipated. Each hour seemed to stretch endlessly, the pain of your unresolved feelings gnawing at you from the inside out. The mansion, once a place of comfort and familiarity, had become a labyrinth of haunting memories, each corridor a reminder of what you had lost—or perhaps never truly had.

You moved through it like a ghost, your presence almost ethereal, as if the very walls knew you were clinging to a love that had slipped through your fingers. Every corner you turned, every room you entered, was steeped in the past—a collection of fleeting glances, whispered secrets, and moments stolen from time, all of which now seemed like distant echoes of a life that no longer felt like your own. The spaces that had once been filled with the warmth of his presence now felt cold and empty, as if the mansion itself mourned the uncertainty that had settled between you and Logan. And as you wandered through this once-familiar place, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trapped in the shadow of something you could never fully possess, lost in the remnants of a love that might have never truly been yours to begin with.

Logan kept his promise. He gave you space, but his presence was everywhere: the scent of his cigar lingering in the air, the faint echoes of his voice in the halls, the emptiness that seemed to follow you, reminding you of the distance between you. It was unbearable, the constant ache in your chest, the gnawing fear that you’d never find your way back to each other.

The nights were the worst. The quiet darkness left you alone with your thoughts, with the haunting image of Jean in Logan’s arms, with the memories of the life you’d imagined with him. Sleep eluded you, your mind racing with questions that had no answers.

And every night, without fail, you found yourself standing outside his door, your hand hovering over the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. But you never knocked. You never found the courage to face him, to ask the questions you were too afraid to know the answers to.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the silence felt suffocating, the emptiness too much to bear. Your heart ached with the need to see him, to hear his voice, to find some semblance of closure, whether it meant saying goodbye or finding a way forward together.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and knocked on the door. The sound was soft, hesitant, but in the quiet of the night, it echoed like a gunshot.

The door creaked open, and there he was, his eyes widening in surprise as they locked onto yours. He looked as worn and tired as you felt, and the sight of him made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded silently, stepping aside to let you in. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing across the walls as you entered. It was the same room you’d left him in all those nights ago, but now it felt different. The air was charged with something unspoken, something that made your skin prickle with anticipation.

He closed the door behind you, the sound of it clicking shut sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, your voice shaky. “About us. About everything.”

Logan didn’t respond, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. The tension between you was palpable, a thick, heavy thing that hung in the air, pressing down on you both.

“I’m scared, Logan,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I’m scared that no matter how much we try, we’re always going to end up back here. Hurting each other, tearing each other apart.”

He took a step closer, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm. “I’m scared too,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But I’m more scared of losing you.”

Your breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t know how to do this, Logan. I don’t know how to be with you when I know… when I know she’s still a part of you.”

He winced, the pain in his eyes almost unbearable to see. “She is a part of me. Always will be. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I’m tired of running from this—from us. I’m tired of living in the past.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I don’t want to be second best,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to spend my life wondering if I’m just a consolation prize.”

Logan’s hand moved to your cheek, his touch gentle as he wiped away your tears. “You’re not. You never were. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never make up for. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

His words hit you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of you, your breath catching in your throat as you stared up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered truth.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can keep loving you when it hurts this much.”

Logan’s grip on your face tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a soothing gesture. “Then let me help you. Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere. That I’m choosing you.”

You hesitated, the fear still gnawing at the edges of your heart, but beneath it, there was something else—a flicker of hope, of longing, that refused to be extinguished.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want to trust you.”

“Then do,” Logan urged, his voice rough with emotion. “Trust me. Trust us. We’ve been through hell, but we’re still standing. That’s gotta mean something.”

His words hung in the air, the truth of them settling deep in your bones. You knew he was right. Despite everything, despite the pain and the heartache, you were still here. You were still fighting.

And maybe that was enough.

Slowly, tentatively, you nodded. “Okay.”

Logan’s breath escaped him in a rush, relief flooding his features as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his body chasing away the cold that had settled in your heart.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You closed your eyes, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—fear, hope, love—all tangled together in a messy, beautiful knot. “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life apologizing,” you whispered back, your voice soft but firm. “I just want you to be here. With me. For real.”

“I’m here,” he promised, his voice rough with sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, you allowed yourself to believe it—to believe in the possibility of a future where the echoes of the past no longer haunted you, where the love you shared was enough to overcome the pain.

The kiss deepened, the taste of him filling your senses, grounding you in the present, in the reality that he was here, with you, and that you were choosing each other, despite everything.

When you finally pulled away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding in your chest, you looked up at him, your eyes searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. Only love, raw and unfiltered, staring back at you.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just stay.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the last remnants of fear and doubt dissolve like mist under the warmth of his gaze. The walls you had built around your heart began to crumble, replaced by a quiet, unwavering certainty. With a gentle but deliberate motion, you reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as they found their way to his face. The rough texture of his stubbled cheek was a comforting reminder of his strength, of the man who had weathered so many storms yet still stood before you, willing to face the tempest that had raged between you both. Your thumb traced a slow, tender path along his jawline, as if trying to memorize every detail, to anchor yourself in this moment of fragile peace. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady, filled with a conviction that surprised even you.

As his arms wrapped around you, drawing you close, you let yourself melt into the embrace, feeling the solid warmth of him against you. The tension, the pain, the wounds that had festered between you for so long seemed to dissipate, leaving behind only the raw, undeniable truth of your connection. His arms were both a refuge and a promise, holding you in a way that spoke of comfort and commitment, of a bond that had been tested but refused to break. Despite the scars that marred your past, despite the echoes of hurt that would always linger in the shadows, you realized that you had finally found your way back to one another.

This time, there was no hesitation, no lingering doubt. You knew, with every fiber of your being, that this was where you were meant to be—in his arms, with him. The journey had been long and painful, marked by loss and longing, but it had led you to this moment, to a love that had survived the worst and emerged stronger. As you held each other close, you silently vowed that this time, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

You weren’t letting go—not now, not ever.

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Taglist: @littledebbieinabigworld @sasuke-kun0 @mrs-schoenheit @daily-evanstan @aliisa-jones @danicl25 @shortbk @hynjjine @nonamevenus @yawnetu @enashift

[slytherinshua]

MY FAVOURITE

genre. fluff. hurt/comfort. warnings. jaehyun had a stressful day and cries a bit. pairing. jaehyun x fem!reader. wc. 857. request. requested by 🐧 anon: thoughts about jaehyun returning home to y/n after a stressful day and switching from leader mode to baby mode a/n. jaehyun being a crybaby is just so :( like i love him i adore him as a cry baby myself 🥹 like idk i just cry over everything any slightly stressful situation will have the tears forming its not even funny >:( jaehyun looks so squishable and tiny when he cries like 😭😭😭 he needs to be protected from the world.

“No. I told you we needed another 2 days for choreography lessons. The boys will be stressed if they have to learn it all by tomorrow. There’s still so many details we need to review.” Your boyfriend had barely walked through the door before he got a call from his manager and started talking. He sounded extremely stressed— not something you were usually used to from soft clingy Jaehyun you had around most days.

Whether it was charismatic performances on stage or detailed plans and decision-making offstage, your boyfriend excelled in both areas. But it was tiring. He could switch on and off as quickly and easily as he needed to, which was extremely helpful in keeping his stress at a low. Relaxing and recharging was just as important as working, and he knew that he needed a balance to keep going.

Today had been long and heavy on the work non-stop part of his life that Jaehyun both loved and hated. It was all worth it— always— but some days he really wished he didn’t have to leave so early in the morning and come home so late at night. Some days he wished he could just cuddle with you until he actually wanted to get up and that he was able to get back to you in time for dinner. 

It was much past dinner time by now, already nearing midnight. Though your boyfriend’s voice sounded just like usual, professional, bright, and confident, you could tell with one glance at his face that he was so so tired. Eye bags and furrowed eyebrows framed his face, and he ran a stressed hand through his black hair, letting it stay and grip at the strands a bit too long for your liking.

The phone call ended quickly, thankfully. Jaehyun turned to you and you could just see him soften and relax completely. You closed the distance between you two so he didn’t have to, knowing your boyfriend and his love for hugs. He sunk into the hug immediately, holding you so so tightly. You frowned at how he was barely supporting his own body weight, so exhausted that he physically couldn’t do much other than cling to you.

You wanted to move to the couch in case he ended up toppling you both over with any extra weight he put in the hug. But you couldn’t do it without breaking the hug and Jaehyun looked like he would cry if that happened.

Not that he hadn’t started crying a little already. You could feel his body rack silently as he tugged at the back of your sweater, breathing in the scent of your shampoo with each uneven breath. You rubbed his back slowly up and down, soothingly waiting until he had calmed down enough to get ready for bed.

“It’s okay, let it all out, baby. I know it was an exhausting day. But you know I’m proud of you, right?” You murmured, pressing little kisses to his temple as you spoke. He started crying a little harder at your words, but you didn’t mind at all. You were glad you were someone he trusted enough to be completely vulnerable with. He didn’t hold back his tears, sobbing into your shoulder until the tears slowly stopped. You pulled back once you felt that he could hold himself up again with a clearer head.

“Not even the sky can be sunny all the time.” You smiled at his precious face, reaching out to swipe a thumb on his cheek to wipe away the tear stains. His nose was red and a little runny, and his eyes were a bit swollen. He looked so precious and small, and your heart broke just seeing him cry. 

After a few more hugs and a couple of kisses for motivation, you got him to shower and get into his pyjamas to cuddle up with you and finally sleep. Jaehyun loved to be the little spoon more than anything, all wrapped up close to you, feeling so comfortable and secure like nothing could ever touch him. You played with his hair and pressed continuous kisses to his face— you loved to spoil your baby with as much affection as he deserved, and he loved to receive it after a long day.

“It’s my favourite thing…” He mumbled quietly, snuggling closer into your chest.

“What is?” You traced a finger around his nose and cheekbone, pressing a kiss to the spot right after.

“This. And you. You’re my favourite.” He replied, smiling a little, about half asleep already.

“Really?” You smiled fondly at him as he nodded. “I’m honoured to be your favourite. You’re my favourite too.” 

“Really…?” He was so sleepy, and his words came out whispered, but you found it all the more endearing.

“Yes, really.”

With the last bit of energy Jaehyun had before sleep caught hold of him, he reached for your hand that was playing with his hair and brought it down to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to your fingers. Before you could respond or return the favour, he was already sound asleep in your hold.

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